Maria

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

a strike of fear pangs through his chest, though he hides it with a glare when Ellie tugs excitedly on his sleeve. "did you see that?" she asks, brows raised. he scowls in response, squinting down to make sure your bobbing body still has all the pieces.

you smile up at him, waving and shouting something that he misses.

his shoes crush over the dust that riddles the crumbling bridge he stands on, the cerulean river calm below. your body is plastered with your wet clothes when, minutes later, you pant up to the two of them with a grin and a cut hand. "the rocks are slippery down there."

Joel stares at you now, jaw clenched slightly at the memory from weeks ago. he'd rolled his eyes then - hadn't spoken to you for the rest of the day, too angry with the recklessness of your leap off the drop, the once-tall cityscape behind you turned to dust by years of turmoil and failed humanity.

and noticing his irritation, for the rest of the day you'd stayed behind him, not trying to speak to him again. instead you whispered with Ellie, sharing secrets like you were high schoolers. when Ellie fell sleep with her head in your lap that night, you'd whispered to him, told him you were sorry. that you hadn't meant to upset him.

he'd pretended to be asleep.

but now, you're the one asleep - body curled slightly, his jacket pulled over you like a blanket as your fist curls around the necklace you'd never taken off. the same one that held a locket your sister had given you - the one you talk about all the time, the one you'd tried to get Joel to try on once.

when you'd tried that, he'd snapped for you to keep your hands away from him. so Ellie had tried it on instead, and you told her it looked very pretty.

guilt seems to find him a lot at night.

your face, illuminated by the moonlight through the grimy windows of the building you'd scouted, is too peaceful, too serene. he has to look away.

something about you settles a very deep melancholy that he cannot understand.

you shift slightly, brows furrowing in that look you get when you're upset or angry or scared - it looks disheartening when you're asleep. he stares with intent, hand on his gun.

he knew you'd wanted to leave before he'd even asked. he'd seen the agony, the confusion, the sadness in your eyes every time he packed up to leave the QZ without you by his side - such a strange reaction from a neighbor.

a neighbor who used to show up every day without fail to try and convince him and Tess to let you in on their jobs. a neighbor who would, instead, wait with a med kit for him to return the next day or the next week.

even in the QZ, he thought of you often.

he'd watch you with your friends, spinning in your own world. it would strike him with a deep longing; the beauty you exude is one that, until meeting you, he'd thought was gone from the world.

you've got music laced in you, in your eyes, your smile, your arms; though you have no reason to. you've lost everything, you keep losing everything, and yet, against all odds, you keep so much life within you that he thinks you may one day burst. something about it hurts his chest.

when he met you, he thought you were naive. a young girl on her own in the Boston QZ, hoping to make extra money smuggling but never being taken seriously.

you never even made it out of the zone until you snuck out after them. Tess had found you first - his heart pangs and he shakes his head, staring at the spot that had bruised on your cheek from when you'd snuck up on them silently and paid for it with the butt of his gun.

and you'd laughed it off, like it was funny. you'd joked about it, teasing him as the purple turned to yellow. all while he stayed awake for nights, staring at the bruise while you slept, his chest heavy and his throat tight.

you've got that piece of life that nobody else has, and he cannot understand it. he doesn't think he ever will.

despite his best efforts, he'd gotten to know you. Tess had liked you. Ellie likes you. he likes you, too. he loves you.

he could tell early on that, for whatever reason, you care about him. now, he wonders if you might even love him too.

he doesn't understand why.

you were well loved back in Boston. he'd seen it - in the hidden basements of bars, the shadows that walked you back to your apartment across from his at night, the same shadows that snuck from your apartments in the morning daybreak.

he'd tried not to stare out the peephole at the frames of lovers you'd taken as they kissed your forehead, hesitating in your doorway before leaving.

he'd seen handfuls of friends wrapped in your arms in the streets, wide smiles and bright cheeks.

there were nights where your friends didn't come around, and you were alone. those were his favorite nights, because you'd invite him over. even when he said no, it still gave him a warm feeling when you'd nod and mutter, next time, then.

you'd been making your own bottles of grain alcohol somehow - you'd invited him to a glass and once he finally took you up on it after months of asking, he'd seen how you'd been hiding them in the hollowed out piano that crumbled in the corner of your tiny apartment.

sitting on the piano bench, you'd told him that you had been in the QZ since you were around Ellie's age - when your sister had left for somewhere in the mountainous West; the two of you had been locked inside this crumbled city forever, she was ready to leave. but you had been scared - too young to travel - and you just couldn't find it in you to say goodbye.

she'd left without you the next day.

that was the night he learned that you played piano, too.

you've still got the music in you, and he doesn't understand why.

he's worried about you.

or maybe, he's worried about himself.

days after you'd jumped from that bridge, the scream of his name from your lips a song of its own, you'd snuck them all across a river.

there had been people tracking you; Joel had kept a tight grip on his shotgun the entire hour, eyes sharp as he'd stared at the woods behind you all, Ellie in the middle, you in front, with your own gun drawn and a stare so strong it'd made his head skip.

you wanted to erase your tracks - but the river current was strong, rising with the snowmelt as you took several steps in. you'd saved them both from the currents and built a strong fire once the threat was cleared and you were miles away.

he'd worried about the curve of your lips, the smile that graced you while he and Ellie were grim and cold. he'd worried about the warmth that your laugh had given his chest.

the fire that night was warm, but you still rolled closer to Joel when you slept. he'd let you. and when he woke up that next morning while you were on watch, he'd found that in his fitful rest, he'd stretched his hand out, towards where you sat. his hand splayed on your calf while your other leg was bent, housing your chin.

you'd just smiled gently down at him when he'd moved his hand quickly, his eyes sheepish. you'd let him.

"Joel?" your voice is very soft. even back in the QZ when he was in bed, your voice would come out and haunt him.

I know you want me.

it takes him a second to register that you've woken up from your sleep and slid up next to him. your thigh is warm where it touches him, but he doesn't dare look down. instead, he sets the gun down, turning to stare at your face.

your eyes are bleary from sleep, your hair tousled. you're so pretty it hurts.

his throat feels dry. "hey." he doesn't mean for his voice to come out that gentle. sometimes, when it's you and him, it just does.

guilt surrounds him as your hand slides over his thigh, burning warm, comfortable. how could something so beautiful exist in such a world? it makes him nervous.

you make him nervous.

"what are you thinking?" you ask. he knows you - knows that's your way of checking on him. you do that, just as he does to you. are you feeling alone?

he shakes his head, "lots of things I shouldn't be." he says honestly, his eyes searching the depths of yours. but you're good to me.. so good to me.

you're not scared of him like you ought to be.

you shrug, "tell me."

he doesn't see the reason to lie anymore; you've been haunting him for too long. and he's been hiding himself from you.

"just don't know why you're with me. with us. here." but he can't bring himself to finish his thoughts - because you, despite it all, loved your life before you left it. because you had lovers, you had friends your age, a life. you were so much safer without me. because you have that music in you, and it's still there despite it all. despite me.

you shift next to him, your cheek falling to his shoulder. he doesn't feel the urge to shake you off like he used to - that feeling melted away months ago, shortly after the desire to put his lips on yours burned in his soul.

"I just think you underestimate how much you mean to me." you say, eyes full of too much light.

he sees that music again; the unrelented spirit in your cheeks when you smile. the laughter that hasn't left you even when you left your old life behind for him and a girl you didn't know. tell me why, tell me why.

he doesn't know what to say, but his head turns gently to place a kiss to the crown of your head.

he nearly feels sick at the implications of such an action, but you just sidle up closer to him, your hand squeezing his thigh gently. he turns to look at you and you move off his shoulder, lifting your own eyes to meet his.

his breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, love and trust in your eyes. the locket glints in his peripheral as he stares down at your glowing, beautiful face.

your lips, my lips.

he intends to kiss your forehead - the way he'd seen all those lovers do months ago, back in Boston. the way he'd always ached to.

but you meet him halfway, and suddenly your warmth is on him.

it spreads from his lips and grows through his body - a beautiful, melancholic hum that sings along his veins. you are soft, you are pliant, strong, loving.

everything he doesn't deserve.

and yet you kiss him and you let your hand fall to his jaw, tilting yourself to feel more of him. he doesn't understand why, but maybe that's okay.

he kisses you back softly, then desperately.

your lips and his, something so kind, full of life. something that doesn't belong in such an apocalypse.

something he couldn't live without.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

(once again begging) send more requests! for Joel and Din! taglist: @satansgoatt @elissaaa @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspasms @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @casssiopeiaaa @wannab-urs @redhotkitchen @joelapologist2001 @silkiers @alltheseperfectimperfections @whorror-s @scarletthefierce @worhols @hearthrooob

Joel stands in front of your house early afternoon on Saturday, a box of cords and plastic in one hand as he urgently knocks on your door, “Open up,” he barks, “This shit’s heavy.”

“Fuck,” you groan, walking up to your front door wearing nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt and some old boxers. You can see Joel waiting impatiently through the window. You open the door and squint at Joel, the daylight too bright for your eyes, “What do you want, Joel?”

“Need to use your TV,” he demands, stepping inside your home and placing a hand on your hip to move you aside, “Move.” 

“Why?”, you resist.

Joel motions toward his box with an annoyed expression on his face and your eyes light up. “Oh yeah,” you say, leading Joel to your living room where he sits in front of your old and boxy television, flipping up panels and tinkering with buttons before plugging in cords, “Can I play too? Will you show me how?”

“If you listen to me, maybe,” Joel mumbles as he’s setting up the console before turning to you, “Are you gonna be good and listen to me?”

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Figures.”

You didn’t listen yesterday, either. You never do. 

-

Something had caught your eye and you went ahead of Joel, something he absolutely hates. He tells you your place is next to him or behind him. He leads. You follow.

“Would you quit fuckin’ wanderin’, Inglewood?”, Joel hissed at you in the second level of the mall, “I give ya an inch, ya take a mile.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why do you call me that?”

“Cause you’re always up to no good.” 

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“I know you don’t,” Joel sighed.

An odd clicking noise startled you both. It wasn’t quite that signature sound of a clicker, but it was enough to set you both off. You turned to Joel with wide eyes, and he reflexively pulled you close, one hand over your mouth and his other arm wrapped around your waist. Behind me, he mouthed. 

You nodded and took your place behind Joel, heart pounding in your chest. He walked forward slowly before stopping, pulling out his gun and his flashlight. In front of him was a dark silhouetted figure, something he couldn’t quite make out. It stood in front of a store with a broken sign, white and red glass lettering shattered. As he tiptoed closer with you following close behind, his eyes began to piece more things together. The figure was unmoving, and upon closer inspection it looked to be wearing almost…tactical gear? Was it FEDRA? He wondered what the clicking noise was. Probably just the mall deteriorating. If there were infected in the mall, they would have shown themselves by this point.

The figure stayed still, unmoving. Finally, Joel saw it. On the figure’s chest read, ‘Call of Duty: Out October 29, 2003’. Joel let out a breath of relief and put his gun down, “False alarm,” he said. “Wait.”

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked as he took quick steps toward the unmarked store. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, “Get your ass over here. Follow me. First good thing in this godforsaken mall. Do you know what this is?”

“You know I don’t know what this is.”

Joel explained that it was a GameStop. They used to sell video games and stuff, had all sorts of fun things. He looked like a kid in a candy shop, stealing consoles and cartridges and gushing about how much he loved these games long ago. 

When you and Joel had returned from the mall, he practically sprinted into Ellie’s room, setting up their shared TV with a PlayStation and introducing her to some games. Ellie was ecstatic, and Joel knew she and the TV would be inseparable. 

-

Which leads him here, to your house, in front of your TV. 

“So I take it Ellie’s excited about the games and stuff you got her?”, you ask amused.

Joel fumbles with a controller to a Nintendo Entertainment System. “Big time,” he says. “They’re attached at the hip. So I’m commandeering your TV for today.”

“You could’ve asked, you know,” you tease, “I would’ve given it to you, asshole.”

“Don’t need you to give me nothin’. Just here to use your TV for a bit,” as he draws the curtains in your room, turns on your TV and adjusts the input, then sits back on your couch, legs outstretched on your coffee table, “It’s more fun when I take it from ya, anyway.”

You wonder if Joel gets physically ill at the thought of being polite, being kind to you. Nothing’s ever easy with him. He’s always ready to argue, ready to instigate. You roll your eyes, then leave Joel to take a shower and get dressed. You’re not sure what you were planning on doing on this Saturday, but video games with Joel seems to be your fate. 

By the time you have showered, Joel has already been playing for nearly 2 hours. You dress yourself in some comfy sweatpants and a hoodie, expecting to hunker down in front of the TV with Joel all day. You can hear the soft music from the video game from your room and Joel’s strings of expletives, or his cheers, depending on what’s happening in the game. You make a couple of sandwiches, some sliced apples, and pour a couple of glasses of water before you greet Joel in the living room. Standing in front of the TV, you watch as Joel tries to continue playing. There’s a little guy wearing a red hat, jumping over blocks and stomping on mushrooms. He makes a cute little ‘boing’ noise when he jumps, and the music playing in the background is playful, melodic. 

“Sweetheart, y’make a better door than a window. Get out of the way,” he gruffs. Joel’s got some fucking nerve today. He could have just kindly asked you to move. Tauntingly, you wiggle your ass in front of him, so he reaches over the coffee table and smacks it, “What’d I say about listening? Do you wanna play the game or not?” With Joel’s eyes still transfixed on the TV in front of you, you sit down next to him and place your two plates on the coffee table. “Everyday it’s somethin’ with you. Always tryin’ to get under my skin, always-”, Joel’s voice trails off as he glances at his plate, “Did you make me a sandwich?” 

You shrug, “You’re extra cranky today. Figured you could use a snack.”

“I’m not cranky,” Joel argues, “And I don’t need you makin’ me any snacks. Can make my own food.”

“Okay,” you say, eating your own food, “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna shove it down your throat.”

Joel stays focused on his game until he hears the crunch of you biting into a slice of apple. “Wait, are those apple slices?”, he asks in a low tone. 

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t happen to cut any up for me, did you?”

“I did. Sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on top,” you smile proudly.

You watch Joel grumble to himself and play the game silently until he beats the level he’s on, then he pauses the game and sets his controller down. He picks up his plate of food and eats a couple of apple slices before inspecting his sandwich, “Did you poison this?”

“No, not the sandwich. The apples, yes. Don’t you taste the rat poison?” 

Joel rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his sandwich, “Gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart. Up the dose next time. Tasty sandwich, though.”

“Noted,” you smile. Joel smiles too, almost imperceptibly, but you see it, the sparkle in his eyes and the way his face lit up when you told him you sliced up some apples for him too. 

“Tell me about your game.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, “It’s Mario. You don’t know Mario?”, and you shake your head no. “Jesus…you age me,” Joel takes another bite of his sandwich before continuing, “Mario’s a video game. Super Mario Brothers. He has a brother, Luigi. They’re plumbers and they fight Bowser to save Princess Peach. So that’s what I’m doin’ here,” Joel motions to the TV, “Savin’ Peach. Eventually.”

“Is it hard?”, you ask. 

“Kinda. Haven’t played in forever. But Tommy and I’d play all the time. Were always fightin’ over the damn Nintendo,” Joel chuckles, “Drove Mom fuckin’ nuts.”

“Maybe we should invite him over then,” you muse. 

“Nah,” Joel says, “Just me and you today.”

You smile, “Just us?” 

Joel nods, finishing the last of his sandwich and his apple slices, “Unfortunately.” He stretches his legs and his arms out long, then rubs his soft belly with a groan. “You’re trouble,” he tells you, “Tryna’ make me fat. I’m gonna go home and change into something cozier - jeans are fuckin’ tight.” 

“Bet I could make them tighter,” you bite your lip and nudge his thigh. 

“That’s a nice offer. You’re a charmer, Inglewood. Maybe later.” You huff as Joel picks up both of your plates and walks them to your kitchen sink, scrubbing and drying each one before pulling on his jacket. He walks back over to where you sit on the couch and points to the TV and his Nintendo, “Do not touch this,” he says, “It doesn’t have a memory card. So if you fuck with it, my progress is gone. Don’t unplug nothin’, don’t touch the TV, don’t–”.

“What if I–”.

Joel doesn’t let you get another word out, “Nope. Don’t do that either. Just leave it be, sit pretty and behave yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

You scoff and cross your arms as Joel leaves while staring at the paused screen of Joel’s game, then flicker your eyes lower to the controller Joel left on the coffee table. He didn’t say anything about playing the game. What’s the worst that could happen?

You reach for the controller and begin messing with the buttons, playing with the D-pad until the screen changes and you press ‘Start Game’.

The game starts. It catches you off guard. You fumble with the buttons until you figure out how to make Mario move, how to make him jump. A couple times you hit an angry looking mushroom and he dies. You snicker to yourself. Figures. Before you know it, you’ve passed Level 1-1 and you’re onto Level 1-2.

Level 1-2 comes and goes, and then Joel’s back at your door. You pause the game as he lets himself in. You wear a mischievous smile when you see him in his gray sweats and a t-shirt – your weakness. You can see the outline of his dick in those pants, and it sends a pang of arousal to your core. “Well don’t you look handsome,” you purr. 

“Pipe down, horndog,” Joel sits down on the couch next to you. Before he can reach for the controller, you slide your hand over one of his thick thighs and palm his bulge, then slip your hand under the waistband of his pants and play with his cock. He sighs as you stroke him, his sweet sounds getting you all hot and bothered. His cock is thick and warm, half hard and growing harder, but he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. “Later,” he reminds you, “C’mon. I know you can wait. I don’t have much of the game left to play.”

“Okay,” you mumble. You scoot closer to Joel as he picks up the controller, wrapping your arm around his and resting your head on his bicep. You squeeze your thighs together tightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure at your core. He tries to shake you off of him, but you don’t budge. “I’m cold, Joel,” you protest.

“So get a blanket. I ain’t your heater,” he complains, but you feel him relax with your touch, snuggling up to you a little closer like maybe he’s cold too, “God, you make me nuts.”

You say nothing as Joel reaches for the controller, presses a couple buttons before the game starts again. He starts playing, then squints and furrows his brows. “Woah, woah, woah,” he says, “This ain’t right. What - why - what happened? Did you touch this? Tell me you didn’t touch this.”

“I didn’t touch it,” you lie. 

Joel turns to you and glares, “What. Did. You. Do.”

“I tried out your game,” Joel continues glaring at you and you raise your arms in surrender, “What?”

Joel cups your cheeks in both of his big hands and shakes your head gently, “Why would you do that?” 

“You told me not to unplug anything. I didn’t unplug anything.”

“I also told you not to touch anything,” Joel groans, “Do you know how long it took me to beat those levels?”

“Just pick up where you left off, Joel.”

“I told ya, it doesn't work like that. No memory card, no progress. I have to start over now,” Joel whines, “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Beats me,” you say, “But–”, you take one of Joel’s hands from his controller and suck his fingers before slipping it under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Now we can get down to brass tacks. Hmm?”

“One rule,” Joel hisses as cups your mound, “I gave you one fuckin’ rule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But now that you’re not playing Mario anymore, you can make me come. And then I’ll make you come. And you’ll forget you were ever mad at me.”

Joel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to you, his eyes now mischievously lit up. “You’re right,” he says, “I’m not playing Mario anymore. You are.” He places the controller in your hands, “I told you I wanted to beat the game, and mayb then I’d fuck ya. So now you’re gonna get me back to where I was so I’ll finish up the game, and maybe, maybe after that, I’ll fuck you. Cause I’m not doin’ all of this again. I’ve got other games I wanna play too.”

“Piece of cake,” you reply confidently. Though really, playing Mario is harder than it looks.

“Oh, really? Is it that easy?”, Joel says, raising his eyebrows in amusement at your confidence as you nod, “If ya say so. I thought you said it’s harder than it looks. Whatever. Go on, then.” Situating yourself next to Joel, you adjust your grip on the controller. Joel’s hand is still beneath your pants, fingers resting against your lips. You look at him, wondering if he’ll pull his hand away. “You put it there,” he says. “It’s stayin’.”

Whatever. You start the game feeling confident in yourself, and then Mario hits a mushroom and he shrinks. And then he hits another mushroom, and he dies. Joel hums in amusement and you shove your elbow into his side. “I didn’t say anything,” he smirks.

It takes you about ten minutes to get the hang of it, but eventually you do. When you start a new level, Joel presses two of his fingers against your pussy and it startles you. Mario hits a turtle and he shrinks again. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

Dragging his fingers up and down your folds at a leisurely pace, Joel shrugs, “Nothin’.” He’s definitely not doing “nothing”. It’s getting harder to focus now, and you’re making mistakes, getting hit by enemies, missing those little mushroom power ups that come at you every so often. You huff in frustration, and Joel chuckles to himself, “You suck, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, Joel.”

He presses the tip of his middle finger against your entrance, pushes inside before pulling his finger back out and dragging it up to your clit, smirking when your breath hitches in your throat, “Do you need some help? Pointers, maybe?”

“No,” you grit, “Shut up, Joel.”

“Hmm, alright,” he hums, his thick fingers now circling your sensitive bud. You can feel his intense gaze on you as you play the game, squashing Mario’s enemies to the best of your ability, but you were right the first time, it’s harder than it looks. Joel turns his attention back to the TV, “Hit that box with the question mark.” You raise your eyebrow in suspicion. It’s probably a trap. With Joel, it’s always a trap. “Watch what happens,” he instructs, so you hit the box and a flower emerges. Joel tells you to jump on it, so you do. Warily, though. Mario changes outfits. “There you go. Now if you press B,” he taps the other button on the controller, “You can shoot those guys with a fireball. Try it out.” 

Mario does in fact shoot fireballs at the enemies. This advantage makes the game come along smoother, so Joel ups the ante, drawing tight circles into your clit. “Joel,” you moan, “Quit it. You’re distracting me.”

“Thought you wanted me to make you come,” Joel taunts.

“I do, but not like thi–fuck–Joel, stop.”

“Tough luck,” Joel responds, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

You do your best to ignore the sensation of Joel touching you, but it’s hard. He knows exactly where to touch you, how to touch you to make you squirm and moan for him. You have to fight yourself to keep your eyes from rolling back when Joel pushes two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out for a moment before abruptly curling them upward, hitting that sweet spot he knows and loves. “Jesus, Joel,” you moan, accidentally pressing the lower end of the D-pad. On the TV, Mario slides down a pipe and is brought to a new area. He’s able to run across the top of the screen, then finds an area with a bunch of pipes called the Warp Zone. This changes the game. You’re able to skip levels, making this whole thing go by even quicker. You’ll be on your way to fuck town in no time.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna figure that out,” Joel rubs his thumb over your clit as he fucks you with his two middle and ring fingers. You’re able to find a couple more pipes that allow you to go to Warp Zones, which doesn’t require quite as much focus on the screen. You allow yourself to savor the way Joel touches you, that warmth building up in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you moan. That familiar edge begins to creep up just as you’re finishing another level. Your breathing quickens, your pussy dripping and gushing with every movement of Joel’s thick fingers. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t–”.

“Thanks sweetheart. That was a big help,” Joel yanks the controller from you with his free hand, then pulls the other away from your core. Now that you’ve gotten him to where he left off in the game, he focuses all of his attention on the TV, as if he was never touching you. 

“Are you serious?”, you’re in disbelief but Joel doesn’t answer, “Joel, I was about to–”.

“I know.”

You scoff, “Fuck you, man.”

“Yeah, I know you wanna. But I told you, you gotta wait til I’m done. You’re very forgetful, you know that?”

Frustrated, you shove your hand under your sweats and pick up where Joel left off. He clears his throat, “You can play with your pussy, or I can. Pick one but we’re not doin’ both. It’s up to you.” 

Jesus fucking Christ. This is bullshit. Joel can take control of your TV, but not your pleasure. You watch him in astonishment, how he pays you no mind as he plays the game. His eyes are glazed over and his lips slightly parted, deep in focus. It’s like you’re not even there. You lower your eyes from his face to his lap where his fingers move deftly, still slick and shiny with your juices. His thumbs dart back and forth over the D-pad and the buttons, and you wish he was still touching you like that. Expertly, with dedication and precision.  And then it catches your eye – the tent in his sweatpants, that little spot of dampness where his head rests against the fabric. He’s fucking rock hard from playing with you, leaking precome. You’re impressed with Joel’s ability to ignore his own arousal. Good for him. You, however, won’t ignore it. 

In a swift maneuver, too quick for Joel to even process, you pull down his sweats and let his cock spring free, setting the waistband under his heavy balls. You don’t even think, you just do it – lifting up his arm, you dive under and grip the base of his cock. You guide his tip to your mouth, swirling your tongue around his swollen head before letting it part your lips. Joel groans, “Think you can play dirty too, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against him. 

“Knock yourself out,” he tells you, “You’re forgettin’ I have something you don’t – self control, my darlin’.”

You don’t care. This is more for you than it is for him, anyway. You haven’t gotten to taste him yet and it’s been on your mind. He tastes heady, salty, and slightly sweaty on your tongue. He’s warm and thick, you like the way his cock feels in your mouth. His smooth skin, how he squirms when you slide his cock to the back of your throat. 

Joel groans as you work his shaft, one hand gripping his base, the other fondling his balls. You hum against him, sending vibrations down his shaft. He rests the sides of his hands on your head as he plays with the controller, pushing you further down on his cock. “Last level,” he tells you. You suck him mindlessly as he plays, listening to Joel hissing expletives. You smirk with him in your mouth knowing which of his curses are directed at you and which are directed at the TV. 

Joel’s cock stiffens and twitches, he’s getting closer. You know it and so does he. “You know,” he says in a soft, warning tone, “If ya make me come, you’re shit outta luck. Can’t fuck you.”

Oh, shit. You weren’t even thinking about that. You pull your mouth off of him instantaneously, smacking your head against his controller and sending it flying out of his hands. “Fuck,” Joel barks. 

The controller lands upside down on the corner of your coffee table, the buttons hitting the edge just so, and Joel watches in horror as Mario disappears from the TV and is replaced by the main menu. 

You rub your head where you hit it on the controller, but Joel is no longer staring at the TV in disbelief. Instead, he’s looking at you. “Shit. I’m sorry, Joel,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.”

You expect Joel to be angry like usual, but he instead pulls your hand away from your scalp, lowers you so he can check the area you hit and give it a kiss, then lifts your chin back up while rubbing your bump. “It was an accident,” he speaks soothingly, “Mario can wait. Are you hurting?”

“Not terribly,” you tell him. And it’s the truth. 

“No? You sure?” You shake your head no and Joel nods. He rubs your head for a little bit longer, his big brown eyes are soft and sweet and worrisome. The kindest he’s ever looked at you, kindest he’s ever been to you. And all you had to do was smack your head on his video game. He holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, then pulls you close and whispers quietly, “Would you still like me to fuck you? We don’t have to if you’re not up for it anymore.” 

You grin and nod your head, “Yes, please. I want it.”

“Get your ass over here, then,” Joel says as he lifts your hips and pulls your pants off, then pulls his own further down his thighs. He guides you to straddle his lap, holding his cock loosely between his middle and index fingers and his thumb. He drags his tip through your folds, then notches himself at your entrance before pulling your hips down, burying himself in you all the way to the hilt. 

You grip his shoulders and press your forehead to his own, sighing softly as you get adjusted to his girth. “I missed your cock,” you breathe, “Missed it so much.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. I missed you too.”

When you’ve adjusted, you begin to roll your hips, rubbing your clit against that soft patch of hair at the base of his cock, moaning and grunting softly, “Oh, Joel. Feels good.”

“I know it does,” he sighs as he leans forward to lift up your shirt and pulls it off of your body, then takes off his own, “That’s better.” He runs his thumbs over the soft curve of your tummy, then slides his hands up your rib cage before cupping your breasts, twisting and rolling your nipples. 

The way he looks at you makes your cheeks feel hot. You lean forward to hide your face, grinding your hips into him. He holds you close to his body with his hands wrapping around your back before gripping your ass and bouncing you up and down on him, stretching and parting your insides. You allow yourself to rest against him, letting him do the work and take care of you. His cock feels incredible. So thick, so hard, hitting against all of your favorite spots. “So good, takin’ me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, “Ya always do.”

Joel squeezes your ass tighter. He can see your reflection in the TV, loving the way your body moves, how you tremble, how you rock your hips, how you whimper his name. It’s all for him. “Wanna, fuck,” he sighs, snaking his hand between your bodies as he finds your clit with his fingertips, rubbing circles around it, “Wanna make you come on my cock. Make those pretty noises for me.”

With Joel’s cock hitting you right where you need him, his fingers playing with your clit, it’s not long before your orgasm approaches. “Right there, Joel. Like that, just like that,” you moan breathlessly, “I’m gonna come for you.”

“Yeah, gimme a good one,” he says. He fucks you expertly, each of his thrusts deep and intentional. It’s all for you. He just wants to watch you come, hear you moan his name, feel you soak his cock. Your breaths quicken and your moans quiet as you near your climax, and you come with loud cries and moans. Joel pulls you close, fucking you through it as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. “Fuck,” he hisses rocking his hips into you once, twice, three more times before he comes with a groan, painting your insides with rope after rope of his hot seed. 

You fall forward, resting your face against the couch as you both catch your breath. He rests his head next to you, looking deep into your eyes before flicking his gaze to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You stare at his lips too.

“Your head still okay?” he asks, “Smacked it real good.”

“Think so.”

“Gonna keep an eye on it anyway,” Joel whispers, “What am I gonna do with you, Inglewood, hmm?”, bringing his hand to your face and rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. You’re still staring at his lips. His pink, pouting lips that have never kissed your own.

“I’m not sure,” you murmur, “What do you think?”

Joel runs his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting go, “Haven’t got a clue.”

Joel leaves you to grab a warm wash rag and clean you up, then helps you back into your clothes. He reaches for the controller and starts up Super Mario Brothers one more time, and you snuggle his bicep like before. This time, he doesn’t try to move you. 

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“I don’t hear a better idea,” you retort and continue over the hill. You were getting into this QZ. You heard their footsteps behind you as you all headed closer to the concrete walls that seemed to grow as you got closer. Just before you reached the door, two soldiers took notice of your trio.

“STOP! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND ANY WEAPONS YOU HAVE ON THE GROUND,” one of the soldiers shouted. Well, he didn’t shoot you so you’re starting off better than the others. 

“Okay,” you said calmly, slowly lowering your gun to the ground with your hands in the air. “We’re not looking for any trouble.” You could tell this soldier was scared more than anything else. He was young, possibly younger than you so you decided to follow his orders quickly but stay calm. The less freaked out he was the more likely he was to listen to you. You nodded at Joel to set his gun down and Tommy as well. Joel hesitated and you shoved his shoulder a little. Raising your eyebrows as if to say come on man, I don’t wanna do it either but also want to get into this QZ. He glared at you and wordlessly set his gun down. The other soldier walked forward and confiscated your gun…s. 

“You have any other weapons on you?” the second soldier asked.

“No, sir,” you said quickly.

“You the only one here who talks?” He said, slightly raising his gun at Joel, who only increased his usual resting grumpy face, which wasn’t helping.

“We talk,” Tommy said, “just sounds better coming out of her.” You’d discussed this earlier– you would do the talking because your voice combined with your looks was your guy’s best shot at getting into the QZ compared to the Miller brother bitchiness. 

“We just wanna do whatever you need us to do to get us into the QZ and away from out here,” you said with a soft smile. This did something to the officer because from behind his helmet you watched his eyes drift downward slightly to where the tops of your breasts were exposed out of your black tank top and he backed up to whisper with his partner. After about two minutes of negotiating, one of the soldiers ordered you three forward over a wooden bridge of sorts where there were stop signs on either side while the other went over to a repurposed traffic light in the wall. When it turned green, the large doors opened slowly and you were pushed inside into what you assumed to be a quarantine zone inside the quarantine zone. The soldiers push you past some plastic tarps and through a makeshift plastic door and into a chair and tie you down. Your heart rate quickens and Joel and Tommy resist slightly before giving in. You were inside, you can’t fuck this up now. A new, third soldier enters the dim room you’re in with a large black box.

“This is gonna pinch,” she says coldly. She stabs a needle from the box into your neck and you hiss quietly from the pain. Yeah what a fucking pinch that was. Joel tensed in his chair slightly. The screen on the box lit up green and the soldier moved on to Tommy, who also grimaced when the needle stuck him. The screen lit up green again. Joel, being Joel,  didn’t even flinch when getting tested, his face remaining as stoic as always.

“They’re all clean,” the soldier says.

“We removed anything possibly harmful from their bags, but we’ll still pat them down before we get their paperwork done and let them in,” responded another new soldier. A wave of relief washed over you. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to put together that this had to be FEDRA. Two soldiers undid Tommy and Joel’s restraints and began patting them down. Another soldier took off your restraints and really took his sweet time feeling you up. This in no way shape or form could be considered patting you down. Joel scowled slightly, but it didn’t look all that different from his usual facial expressions. You just rolled your eyes, a creepy man feeling you up in exchange for being in a QZ was one of the better hands life had given you.

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” you muttered after a particularly lengthy pass over your ass.

“What did you say?” the soldier said, who you recognized as the second soldier from outside. The one who stared at your tits. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly and before he could say anything else the soldiers were called away, leaving you and the Miller brothers to be ushered into the processing room. Inside was a table with a stack of papers and one singular woman. She was well into her 60s, but still looked like she’d kick your ass with her purse or some shit. Tommy went up first. She asked him some basic questions and some more particular ones. Every word she said was monotone–zero emotion whatsoever. Then she gave him a paper for the job he had to do tomorrow and a few ration cards to start. She explained his papers would be how he was identified.

“There is a mandatory curfew from 6pm to 6am. If you are caught out on the streets without a specific job or FEDRA approval you will be arrested and placed in lockup until your crime is deemed punishable by law or if you are simply let go. Remember to always report signs of cordyceps infection, coughing, slurred speech, muscle spasms, and mood changes. Safety begins with you… NEXT.” Joel walked forward and went through the same thing.

“Full name?”

“Joel Joseph Miller” he said gruffly.

“Location pre-outbreak?”

“Austin, Texas.”

“Birthday?” 

“September 26th, 1967,” the woman hesitated and looked up at him. Her emotionless gaze on him cracked into one of pity.

“Outbreak day? Jesus.” Joel’s birthday is outbreak day? Jesus is right. She finished her questions, handed Joel his papers and repeated her speech from before.

“There is a mandatory curfew from 6pm to 6am. If you are caught out on the streets without a specific job or FEDRA approval you will be arrested and placed in lockup until your crime is deemed punishable by law or if you are simply let go. Remember to always report signs of cordyceps infection, coughing, slurred speech, muscle spasms, and mood changes. Safety begins with you… NEXT.” 

You walked forward. She asked your name and where you were located pre-outbreak. You hesitated only slightly before you said Hazel, Kentucky. You and your father had an unspoken rule to never talk about them, which he broke before he died, but you hadn't said her name out loud in months, maybe over a year.

“Birthday?”

“May 19th, 1989,” you said and the woman looked up again.

“Happy birthday”

Jesus

—

Life in the QZ was not all Ryan and the posters made it out to be. Here in Boston you weren’t fighting for your life from infected, nature, raiders, and slavers–you were fighting FEDRA, the fireflies, and just some batshit crazy people. There were some good ones, and you’d made a few connections so far in the two months you’d been there, your favorite being a woman named Tess. She came here from Detroit and had staked her claim in smuggling operations in and out of the QZ and after your arrival she saw an opportunity to gain muscle in her operations. Mostly from Joel. You could tell she also thought he was hot. Joel was either oblivious or didn’t care, you couldn’t quite tell.

The apartment three of you were given already only had one bed propped up on cinder blocks that Tommy and Joel shared and you slept on the couch. Not the most comfortable, but better than the floor or sleeping with Joel or Tommy. Your smuggling with Tess took up most of your free time. You’re not sure how you all became a quartet of terror so fast, but Tess fit in nicely to your group. And smuggling got you more ration cards, which got you more supplies. Tess had gotten you all guns within the first 2 weeks you all agreed to work together. Tommy, however, despite how much better off you were than before was still restless. Smuggling and what you had done in the QZ definitely did not right your wrongs with God– there was a reason people were afraid of you. You could tell Tommy wanted out as soon as he got in, and when business had slowed down, he was nowhere to be fucking found.

You were out later than you should have been one night but Jake, the guy you’d starting fucking semi regularly, had dragged you away for what was supposed to be a quickie. Unsurprisingly, it went a little long. You knew he liked you, but you just saw him as a stress relief. That clearly wasn’t going to plan, though, as you had never finished with him. 

As you were walking back to the apartment rushing to meet curfew, you were suddenly pulled out of the street into an alley. You started to fight back when a hand went over your mouth but then you heard a voice you recognized. 

“Shh shh shh, it’s me, Tommy,” Tommy whispered. You wriggled out of his grasp and turned to look at him.

“Tommy?! What the fuck are you doing? Why aren’t you back at the apartment by now? It’s almost six? You’re late again and Joel will fucking kill you and then me because I was with you!” you whisper shouted at him. He and Joel got in a pretty heated argument the other night about Tommy not being back in the apartment by curfew. Something about how he always used to have to bail Tommy out of jail and blah blah blah brotherly quarrels. But you still didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Joel’s anger.

“Look I wanna take you to meet someone, just trust me,” Tommy said, you immediately started to turn back onto the street.

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?” He grabbed your arm. “Trust me.” 

You cursed God for coming up with Miller brother puppy dog eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

After a bit of walking Tommy took you to an abandoned corner building in the QZ. Tommy went up to the door and gave the guards standing there a code.

“I swear if you took me to a fucking brothel,” you trailed off when you noticed a large, red symbol on the wall, a firefly. You took in a sharp breath, “Tommy” you said slowly, “what the hell is going on?”

“He didn’t tell you on the way here?” a woman said coming out of a room in the hallway. She had tanned skin and calculating brown eyes that matched her brown curly hair that was tied back in a low, loose ponytail. She was wearing a simple gray tank top and army green cargo pants with a gun holstered at the hip. You’d heard of her, but now that you were actually looking at her, it all made sense.

“Clearly not, but I’m guessing you’re Marlene?” you said coldly. You didn’t like being the only one out of the loop. 

“That would be me,” she smiled, “and Tommy here is going to join us.”

“What?” you questioned angrily.

“Yeah and I was thinking you should come with us,” Tommy said.

“What?” you questioned again. You were so confused. Tommy? Joining the Fireflies? Where is he going with them?

“Look, you know the things we’ve done, the things we’re still doing. I can’t stand it anymore, Joel’s too far gone and he’s getting older and Tess would never, but you? Come on sugar, this is a chance at redemption, to help people instead of hurt them.” 

You looked at him in bewilderment. What the hell was he talking about? Sure, you still had to do some not-great things while smuggling but it was nowhere near the level of dark with Ryan and the group. You only did what was necessary. It was different. Right?

“There’s a squadron of us going out west. Tommy has agreed to be one of them. We have a base out there that’s doing some real good work to benefit the world, not just in the QZs, and from what Tommy’s told me we could use a woman with your mind and skill set,” Marlene says.

“What, you mean like a cure?” she nods, and you laugh, “Tommy, you’re gonna leave us hell you’re gonna leave Joel for what? A chance? Some ‘good work?’ You know how long it took us to get here, and-” you sharply inhale, “fuck I know it isn’t the most glamorous thing but it’s still fucking better than having to live out there. Plus, you’d have to make it through the open city and then past that”

“Good thing I won’t be alone,” Tommy interrupts, frustrated, “and everytime we leave we’re at risk of hanging. Come on sugar, do you really want to stay here for the rest of your life shoveling shit, dumping bodies, and taking orders? And not just from FEDRA. Tess? Joel? They’re making you do what Ryan made us do just under a new name. It still makes us bad people, it still makes you a bad person. Do you really think your family would want that for you?”

That made you pause. Would they? Your dad’s fucking dying wish was that you find a better life and keep thinking of others, but you couldn’t help but feel you’d only half accomplished one of those. Were they looking down on you from heaven, or up from hell, with disappointment? Would it be better if you left with the Fireflies? With Tommy?

“You’re my closest friend, sugar. I just want what’s best for you. We can be heroes instead of villains.”

Villains? You weren’t fucking villains. And then it all made sense. After about a minute of organizing your thoughts you grinned at Tommy and you watched his eyes flash with a glimpse of hope before you said, “On today’s episode of Tommy Miller’s Hero Complex, he’s joining a new and cool rebel group to ease his conscience about the things we did to survive, not because we wanted to,” you watched his face fall at your biting remarks. 

“There’s no moral code in this world anymore Tommy because if there was you’d see that Marlene over there is no less guilty than either of us” you spat.

“I beg to differ,” Marlene interjected.

“Well you’re gonna keep begging because I didn’t fucking ask you,” you snarled. “Tommy, listen, let’s just go back to the apartment and talk about this.”

He sighed, “I’ll go back to the apartment to say my goodbyes, we leave at dawn tomorrow,” he said, refusing to meet your eyes. You blinked back tears of betrayal, frustration, and sadness. But if this was the road he wanted to take, fine.

It was about a 20 minute walk back to the apartment, but it took even longer because you and Tommy had to silently dodge FEDRA soldiers every few minutes. Luckily Tommy had it down to science and you assumed all those nights he’d been late he had been doing this.

When you reached the apartment it was 7:15. You unlocked the door and walked in to find Tess sitting on the couch and Joel pacing the floor. As soon as he turned and made eye contact with you both the fight began.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU TWO BEEN?”

“Ask Tommy,” you said glumly as you walked over to the kitchen table and slung your bag onto it and flopped into a chair, putting your hands on your face. This was gonna be a long night. 

The three of them argued all night, while you listened from the kitchen table, like you always did. They’d ask you for your two cents occasionally, but would start arguing again before you could answer until Tommy tried to pin some of the blame on you.

“Look, she almost decided to go with me! Why aren’t you mad at her?”

You stood from the table and walked towards him swinging your finger up in his face, “Yeah I thought about it for a split second until you called yourself a hero and us villains and then I realized you don’t actually think this will help, it’s just to ease that little hero complex you have. Sometimes heroes do bad things to save the people they care about, but clearly you don’t care about us enough to get over it.”

“I never said that I didn’t care about you guys,” Tommy shot back.

“No, but you’ve been complaining for weeks that what we’re doing is bad and that it makes us bad people, hell you tried to win me over by using my dead family as a bargaining chip. I killed my father and you don’t see me moping about how horrible of a person I am. No, I took it and use it as fuel for my fucking fire and to keep my promise to him. Your little Star Wars Rebels group isn’t going to change anything.” 

“She’s right,” Tess said. “What? Do you really think joining them is going to change anything about you?”

“I’m gonna fucking help people instead of blackmailing them for information, supplies, or ration cards. I’m gonna stop FEDRA’s abuses instead of supplying their officer’s addictions. I’m gonna negotiate and listen instead of killing.” Tommy shouted and then looked at Joel. Something about Tommy’s last sentence softened both of them. Like it reminded the brothers of a memory they shared. 

Joel fiddled with the broken watch on his wrist, “I can’t protect you out there,” he said softly.

“I know, but I won’t be alone,” Tommy put his hand on Joel’s shoulder, “I’ll be okay, I’m a man now, I’m not just your little brother anymore.”

“You know the radio communication codes here?” Joel asked.

“Yes,” Tommy said.

“You’ll check in?” Joel said firmly, it was more of a demand than a question.

“Promise.”

“Okay,” Joel breathed. “Dawn you said?”

“Dawn.” You all looked out the window, there was still a few hours before then.

“You need to get some rest, you have a long journey ahead of you,” Joel said walking over to the bed. “Just stay here Tess, it’s late,” he said without turning around. You could tell this hurt Tess, but she didn’t say anything. She never did. So you took your flat pillow and blanket to one end of the couch and curled up there, Tess headed to the other end and sat down, but to your surprise Tommy kneeled next to you.

“I’m sorry for trying to force you into that, I shouldn’t have used your family like that, it wasn’t fair. You’re like a little sister to me, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he confessed.

“It’s okay, I know why you did it,” you said softly and he hugged you from the side of the couch. “Just be safe out there, okay?” you said into his shoulder, to which he responded with a squeeze.

“I will.”

And at dawn, he was gone.

—

The second leg of your life in the QZ started after that. On a smuggling run not long after Tommy left, Tess, Joel, and you came across Bill and Frank on the radio, two men living in a gated, safe haven, private neighborhood resort of sorts. It took a little convincing but eventually Bill agreed with Frank that they should partner up with you guys. Trips there were rare, but cherished. You and Frank especially got along. You were young and he loved to doll you up just for a day and make you feel like a girl again instead of just a woman in a broken world. You protested at first, but when you saw how delighted it made Frank it reminded you of how much Hazel loved to get dolled up, so you always let him. You’d receive a compliment from Tess, showers of praise from Frank, a comment or two from Bill– less for you and mostly for Frank’s handiwork, and stares from Joel. It was easy to forget about the end of the world there.

Tess moved into the apartment about a year after Tommy left, but you hadn’t minded the brief time it was just you and Joel. You’d grown fond of your little conversations with him as he slowly would open up to you about his life as a contractor and as he learned bits about your short life in Hazel. 

You two decided to just share the bed and it was way more comfortable than the couch so you were grateful the awkward tension there had broken, but when Tess moved in to make smuggling operations easier, you were moved back to the couch not so subtly by her. 

The first night Joel came over to the couch, but before he could open his mouth you reassured him it was fine and that the elderly needed the bed more than you did. 

It went on like this for years. You’d hear from Tommy here and there, go on a smuggling run, trade around the QZ, see a hanging, watch the fireflies fucking destroy everything, and work. It wasn’t great by any means, and it honestly really sucked most of the time, but you had food every night, protection, and a couch to sleep on, so if this was what the rest of your life was gonna be, you hoped your dad would take this as a better life. 

You were gonna have to keep working on that thinking of others thing.

tags: @orcasoul @who-has-my-green-banana

Despite Joel’s size, he had always been good at not being seen if he didn’t want to be, at least when it counted. It was a harder habit to keep up with in Jackson, a place where everybody wanted to know anybody at all. The feeling of at least one set of eyes on him at all times when he walked the streets was an odd juxtaposition to the foreign comfort that radiated inside the town’s tall walls.

Not a watch kept on him, but curiosity that peered at him around every corner. He had thought it would die down eventually, but it lingered with a stubbornness even years later.

Now though, both men didn’t have a care in the world for his presence behind him, crowding around the board and a pair of names he couldn’t quite glimpse until one of them turned, jumping at the sight of the unintentionally imposing figure at their back.

“Oh!” the man let out a noise of surprise before recomposing. He was a newer patrolman, his name starting with a C, Chuck or something. “Joel, hey man. Didn’t see you there.”

The familiarity in the way his name is spoken makes Joel bristle for a moment, but he calms his raised hackles before it can be noticed.

Back in Boston, his name had been a familiar one spoken too. But hints of apprehension, even fear crept around the syllables of those who knew it, those who had heard it whispered in the alleys of where he’d left somebody’s blood splattered against the dilapidated brick walls.

“Hey,” the other patrolman offers in greeting when he notices the pair aren’t alone anymore, and Joel nods, glancing towards the two names their heads had been bent down around when they moved out of the way.

There’s a name he doesn’t have a face to place to it, another person new to patrol. He’d only seen the name in passing on the board each time he checked assignments recently, though this time it's right above his own, listed as his partner on his next route.

“Lucky man,” the other patrolman says with a clap to Joel’s shoulder, and he hates it, jaw setting tight enough that the first patrolman gently nudges his friend away with a wary look.

“I’m always stuck with Willy,” the first one says, and Joel glances back towards the board, searching for that name and seeing it paired with Chad. Names for faces, a common courtesy in the settlement, one he still had a hard time keeping up with sometimes, even years into being here. “Been dying for a chance to head out with her.”

There’s a gesture back towards the name paired with Joel’s, and he stares at the letters written into the thin wooden plaques that are used to arrange assignments on the board. Stares so much even as his fellow patrolmen leave, chattering amongst themselves about Joel’s new partner as he frowns in confusion over why it wasn’t his brother’s name.

“You could use some friends,” Tommy explains with a jovial smile when Joel shows up on his doorstep to question him about the change, though there’s an undertone of ribbing to his tone that makes Joel glare at the younger man. “I figure she’s the perfect one to bring you out of that stubborn shell.”

Joel scoffs at that, brows still knitted together in frustration as he gets ready for bed the night before he’ll have to wake up early to head out with this unknown person on patrol. He’s annoyed over the idea of something as irrelevant as socialization trumping protection on his route, frustrated that he’d have to watch his own back for the dangers only a human could pose, as much as the trail ahead of him for Infected.

But then he meets you, and he understands.

At least, Joel understands why those men had been jealous of his patrol partner when he shows up at the assignment board the next morning, hoping to grab a hot drink in one of the thermoses provided before heading out. He prays for at least the last dregs of some coffee when he sees a small gathering of other patrolmen, including the two from before. All smiles and laughter, until one turns their head towards him.

Joel meets your eyes for the first time, a smile gracing your face as he does so, and he understands.

“Joel Miller,” is the first thing you ever say to him by way of greeting, uttering the syllables in near disbelief, like he’s some fabled myth you’ve finally caught a glimpse of. There’s an infectious, positive energy in the way you say his name to him, in the way you say everything, he’ll come to find. Like there’s things in the world still worthy of being spoken with such excitement. “Good to finally meet you.”

He just nods, eyes flickering to the disappointment on the faces of those gathered around you as your attention focuses solely on him. You move closer, holding up two thermoses in hand, Joel’s gaze narrowing down to them as you gesture with each and ask, “Coffee or tea?”

With a blink, he stares at each before looking back up into your face, noticing the hint of amusement across your features as his lips part, and the first thing he utters in your presence is an awkward hedge of, “Uh.”

Your lips quirk up into a wider smile, and Joel notices then that for all its brightness, it's almost half a smirk. There’s humor in your gaze, and he feels those sharp hackles of his start to rise again until you clarify kindly, “Which do you prefer?”

His brows knit together, looking back down into your hands, and he realizes you’re offering him the choice of which one he wants for the morning.

“Coffee,” he says instantly before his mind can catch up, and the point of your teeth peek past your lips now in a grin when you pass the thermos to him.

“Smart man,” you comment in passing, oblivious to how the two simple words will stick into his mind and replay themselves in the exact tone of your voice for weeks to come. “I prefer tea, anyway.”

You raise your own thermos to his, eyes twinkling with that same good humor, that warm mirth that suddenly makes Joel’s stomach flip when you add, “Looks like the start of a beautiful partnership.”

It is.

Joel hates to admit it, but you work startlingly well together.

He’s paranoid at first, glancing back over his shoulder at you every now and then, but your eyes are always trained on the area around you, keeping diligent watch. Except for when he’s staring at you for too long, for reasons he doesn’t know yet, or is too stubborn to believe.

You somehow always catch him in those stolen moments, smiling at him when he whips his head back around to refocus on the trail in front of him. Sometimes there’s a soft chuckle under your breath when he does so, and those are the times he stubbornly faces ahead for the rest of patrol, so you won’t see the heat creeping into his face that he curses every time you bring it out of him.

He’s too goddamn old to be blushing like a schoolboy, but around you, his body betrays his age and does it anyway.

Sometimes you talk to him. Joel can’t figure out for the life of him why. You certainly aren’t the type to ever be searching for conversation, a whole host of willing participants to speak with you gathering around you every morning before you set out for patrol with him.

But you talk to him anyway. Offer things about yourself and ask him questions in return, ones he hardly answers with more than a few words, if he even replies at all.

That doesn’t bother you. You continue the conversation, and though he barely says a thing, you manage to make him still feel involved. Like you’re not just talking at him, but with him.

It’s just something about you, Joel eventually realizes. There’s a charm about you that goes beyond just a natural charisma. It’s a force of gravity, as inexplicable as it is irresistible, pulling in those around you, and they don’t even care. They want it.

Because you’re not simply bubbly and friendly, but you’re warm. Warm and bright, pure sunshine that brighten up the shortening days, and at some point through that fall of patrolling with you, Joel finds himself riding beside you instead of in front of you.

He nods more to what you say, following along better to whatever stories you’re sharing that morning, tales you never seem to run out of. He starts to answer your questions with sentences instead of words. Sometimes, he sneaks glances at you, and he’s always shocked in the moments when you’re already looking at him.

At first, Joel thinks he’s caught you in those moments. But you just smile at him when his eyes meet yours, unbothered by him noticing your attention on him, and he’s the one turning away yet again, facing the trees away from you so you won’t notice what that soft laughter of yours does to him.

You’re also more than capable in a fight, proving yourself time and time again in sticky situations, and soon enough, Joel doesn’t really mind waking up those early mornings when he knows you’ll be waiting for him with a thermos in each hand. He looks forward to an unnecessary apology on your lips if there’s no coffee that day, and the way you make him take a hot drink anyway—sometimes a pastry too, gently chiding him on taking better care of himself.

“I need you all big and strong for patrol,” you teased him once, but you still glance up and down his body with an appreciation he doesn’t think should be for him, even as he greedily drinks it in anyway. 

Then you wink, and he finds himself unable to make eye contact with you for the rest of the day.

Even then, he knows you’ll have his back, as he has yours.

Yeah, you work well together.

So well, in fact, that he finds his mood takes a sharp decline when he checks the assignment board months into being on patrol with you, and sees Tommy’s name paired with his again.

It makes sense. Winter arrives in Jackson, and with it, increased numbers of Infected on patrol. Joel needs to work with Tommy to clear out the routes hit the worst by hordes, for the good of the settlement.

Joel had never hated practicality before, but he does in that moment he first sees your name paired with Chad.

Chad, the young man with a stupid grin on his face while his buddy expresses jealousy over the “luck” of his assignment, and Joel hates the feeling of the same jealousy curling in his gut.

He hates it when you’re not waiting for him in the mornings. Hates it when your smile isn’t for him, when he’s not listening to your voice express every emotion imaginable in whatever story you’re telling him.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s feeling, doesn’t know that he’s lonely until he’s waiting for Tommy one morning when his brother kisses Maria goodbye before going on patrol.

It only hits him then, with the warm, open affection Tommy gazes at his wife with before leaving, and how she watches him with fondness as he goes. Only then does he feel the hollow ache in his chest, a gaping hole that’s only caved in deeper when your presence came and went.

He’s still thinking about it that night when sleep won’t come to him. Rubbing together his lips, chapped from the cold winter air from being outside all day, he wonders when the last time he’d had another mouth pressed to it.

Jesus, when’s the last time he kissed someone?

It’s a stupid thing to think, an embarrassing thought that has him turning onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. His arms outstretched beneath it, he groans into the fabric, trying to shove away the emptiness even as it continues to ache.

It fucking aches, and it shouldn’t. He was too old, had gone through too damn much to even care about kissing anybody.

So he tells himself he doesn’t. Convinces himself he couldn’t give less of a fuck about not being able to remember the last time he’d kissed somebody. Pretends he doesn't care about holding another person in his arms, lips pressed together just for the sake of it.

Joel likes to think he does a pretty good job of not caring about it, up until the next time he sees you.

You’re standing at the table of food and drink before patrol, eyes scanning over the pastries available with an intense look of deliberation for what you were craving that morning. When you find what you want, your lips part, tongue darting out to lick them in anticipation of your treat, and Joel’s blood runs hot in a way he thought himself no longer capable of.

He watches with rapt attention as you bring the scone to your mouth for a bite, how crumbs of it flake off onto your lips while you nod in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s a taste Joel wants to capture for himself. He wants to find the sweetness of the pastry on your lips, to press his mouth to yours and have you fill that emptiness, to have you soothe that ache in him with the exploration and discovery of you.

“Joel Miller!”

He blinks, hazy vision refocusing on the tantalizing soft look of your lips to see them curved up into a smile, and his eyes flicker up to see you looking right at him as you call to him, speaking his name like he’s still some legend you can’t believe exists until you see him again.

Yet again, he’s caught right in the center of your web—so many times now, that he almost starts to wonder if he willingly walks into it. Merciless to whatever you intend to do with him now that you have him right there, right where you want him.

But you just smile, head tilted with your gazes locked together, and suddenly he doesn’t care if you trap him or if he’s giving himself to you. You have him, and that’s enough.

Then, your lips part, tongue catching those crumbs still stuck to the corner of your upper lip, and Joel’s own lips part, breath hitching through them.

You notice.

You have to notice, because the edge of your smile curls up even more, eyes striking with the joy of a newfound discovery about the stoic man you’d found steadfast by your side for months of patrol, a silent presence now outright ogling you the same way everybody else did.

Everywhere you went, you were sure to find people lazing about in the warm rays of sunlight you cast from your very soul.

Joel wondered if you ever got tired with how much you gave. 

How much everyone took.

And now here he was, taking just the same. Your stunning vision reduced to an idle daydream, one you’d caught him in the very first moment he’d had it. 

Joel thought about what he must look like to you then. Just a lonely old man, longing for a touch. Like a mangy stray turning up at your doorstep, desperate just for the offhand chance of an ounce of kindness you had made the grave mistake of showing him before.

Because now he would always be back, aching for more.

Pathetic.

He turns from you at the sharp voice of self-hatred in his mind, walking away at the same moment you take a step forward. Joel brushes past those other souls just as eager, just as desperate for your attention as he tries to get far away from what you make him feel.

But it stays knotted up in his chest, ever more evident in your absence, the memory of your smile like a pain throbbing in his bones, ringing in his mind when he brushes off Tommy’s concern with a gruff “doesn’t matter” before heading out.

Because it doesn’t.

It doesn’t matter.

But it does.

Jackson had not only brought safety and comfort, but the luxury of wanting.

And, dear Lord, he wanted.

He hasn’t stopped wanting, not since that first morning when he really noticed the curve of your lips, the shape of them taunting and tempting him. 

Now he notices them every time he sees you. The slight quiver of them in a brush of cold winter wind, and how you pull a tube of homemade chapstick out of the pocket of your jacket to run over them. How you rub your lips together to spread it along each gorgeous line and indentation before popping them out with a smack, and Joel nearly fucking moans at the sight the first time.

God, he wants so badly.

He needs, he thinks sometimes, on the coldest, darkest nights. Thoughts of your mouth and what it would be capable of plaguing his mind as he breathes hotly into his pillow and tries to stay still, tries not to rut into the mattress just from the thoughts of what a simple kiss from you would feel like, giving and taking until it was impossible to tell where he ended and you began.

Because it was you.

It was always you.

Some days, it’s all Joel can think about. Your eyes, your hands, your laughter, but most of all, every bend and curve of your lips. 

It’s embarrassing how much just the mere thought of you consumes him. 

And it’s frightening, the power you would have over him if daydreams ever became reality.

What makes it even worse, is that he thinks you know. Joel’s almost sure of it, the way your eyes linger on him whenever you pout or purse your lips together at something especially grumpy that he says.

It’s like you’re doing it on purpose now, and he falls for it anyway, gazing at the fullness of your mouth, the most beautiful color he’s ever seen, with an aching want that he pretends never happened when it turns up into a smile.

Time and time again, you catch him wanting.

And you let him.

You never make a move to stop him, to call him out on it. Instead, you feed the fire, with a kindness in your smile and a mischief in your eyes that Joel is fucking addicted to.

If all you’re doing is stringing him along, he’s more than willing to let you do it, if it only means that the joy that lights up your face whenever you see him never dies out.

He sees it again one afternoon when he runs into you on the street, a bundle of produce from the greenhouses tucked underneath one arm that he almost offers to carry for you by some forgotten reflex, manners he used to have, when you distract him with a question of, “Are you going to that dinner for the patrolmen Maria is putting on?”

“Uh.” Joel winces at how he always finds himself hedging around you. He doesn’t think the things he’s said in your presence is enough to fill a page, even though you’ve plagued his thoughts enough that he could write a whole fucking book on you. 

There’s already a little smirk on your face as he hesitates, and he clears his throat, shifting on his feet with startling uncertainty you always drag from him as he finally responds gruffly, “Yeah, I s’pose so.”

“Great!” you chirp, your free hand patting him on the chest as you move to brush past him, fingers idling on the buttons of his flannel, gliding down along them in a way that sets all his nerve endings alight. “Save me a seat, would you?”

His body turns with the motion of you stepping past him to watch you go, breath caught in his throat as he wonders if you’re joking or not.

Regardless, he saves you a seat when that night comes.

It’s not like anybody wants to sit with him anyway. Most of the others seem to avoid him like the plague. Even years into being in the town, and Joel still feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He doesn’t blame them. Even with his rough exterior growing softer than it had been in decades, he was a shit conversation partner. Joel just didn’t know how to do the things that they did anymore, not amongst strangers. He was happy enough with his own people, and he wishes that he was back home, playing guitar or watching movies with Ellie instead of sitting here alone, reminded constantly of everything he was lacking in.

When he’s asked if the seat next to him is taken so somebody can sit with their friend, Joel hesitates, resisting the urge to just get up and leave altogether when a familiar voice rings out, “It is!”

His head turns, and there you are, face aglow with a warm smile when you round the table towards him, and Joel is already halfway up out of his seat before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Your smile turns to him, eyes brightening with a spark at his quick movement that makes his heart pound in his chest, before you’re taking the back of the chair from the other patrolman’s grasp with a sweet, “Thanks, Astrid.”

When you start to pull the chair back further to sit, Joel takes it from you to do it for you, and it’s the first time he sees genuine surprise flash through your eyes. Still, you smile, and there’s a quiver of excitement to your lips that turns his aching into a yearning the longer he looks at them.

It’s also then when he notices that they’re painted, a shade of lipstick that fills them out further, complimenting your beauty with the way you had dressed so finely for the occasion tonight.

To sit next to him?

The question of futile hope echoes in his mind as you sink into the chair with a grin you’re trying to hide, and his hands are shaking as he pushes the chair in and takes his seat next to you again, something he also tries to hide as he folds them together and tucks them under the table.

When a bottle of wine is offered around, Joel can’t hold in a quiet chuckle at the way you jump in excitement for a glass. It's tilted in your fingers, the liquid swirling gently around the glass before you take a sip, and he’s enraptured by the sight of your lips wrapping around the rim, unable to glance away from the mark you leave on it once you set it back onto the table.

He’s fixated on that lipstick stain, can’t fucking look away from the shape of your lips painted onto the glass, and Joel starts to vividly imagine you leaving that mark on him instead. He wants evidence of your kiss all along his skin, down the collar of his shirt, smeared across his own lips as he takes your mouth in his, again and again.

He wants those marks trailing down, down, wants those painted lips teasing him until it smears all across that pretty face, wants them wrapped around his—

“Joel.”

His head snaps up, catching the gaze of his brother across from him. Tommy’s brow arches in question as he asks, “You good?”

“Yeah.” Joel clears his throat when his voice comes out thick, shifting in his seat while his folded hands move into his lap, shifting the napkin to help his new…issue. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, his gaze one of suspicion, and maybe a bit of amusement as he drawls, “‘Cause I asked you if you wanted a glass of wine about three times, and you didn’t respond.”

Joel pales at being caught, jaw ticking with annoyance at the glee in his brother’s eyes when they snap to you sitting beside him, and he reasserts roughly, “I’m fine.”

Tommy backs off then, turning his attention somewhere else, and Joel almost relaxes until you hold your glass out to him and offer with a smile, “Want to try some of mine?”

The look in your eyes when the blood rushes back into Joel’s cheeks is nothing but goddamn trouble, and he fucking loves it.

You watch him as he stares at the mark of your lips on the glass. He imagines what it would be like to wrap his own lips around it, wondering if he’d taste you with the wine, and he quickly clears the lump that tightens in his throat before mumbling, “No, thank you, ma’am.”

A grin plays on your lips at that, and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his life than to kiss you at that moment. He wants to grab your face and pull you into him so fucking bad, wants your mouth to claim him, bruise him, make him hurt until he heals.

Instead, he keeps his hands to himself, still folded in his lap in a vice grip over his napkin now when you tease, “Ma’am, huh? I think I like that one.”

You wink, and all the blood flooding into his face suddenly rushes south.

Without a doubt, you had him completely fucked.

You talk to Joel the entire night.

Your head is turned to him throughout dinner, and you ask him more questions than ever before. Unlike your patrols, where you were content to tell stories, and he content to listen, you gently prod him to tell you his own. 

Joel’s voice is quiet when he assents, the low, gentle timbre hardly audible over the din of conversation around the long table. He’s sure he must be boring, a drab collection of colors long washed out in comparison to your blinding vibrancy, but you may as well have been the only two in the room with the way you listen to him.

You’re leaning in with your chin resting on a closed fist, nodding along to what he says with eyes dancing over his face so intently, as if to memorize him the same way he did you.

He’s surprised that he wants you to.

At the end of the dinner, when everybody’s bellies are full and they’re filtering out the door, Joel isn’t even shocked that he’s unwilling to leave your side. Though he is startled when the question slips quietly past his lips, “Mind if I walk you home, darlin’?”

You look back from where you were grabbing your jacket with wide eyes, stunned at the unexpected question and the pet name that had escaped him without a second thought. For a moment, he’s worried he finally scared you away, but then you smile.

“I’d like that.”

Joel nods, trying to calm the racing of his heart as he gently tugs the jacket from your grip and helps you put it on. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through you when his fingers brush against your skin, and suddenly there’s a feeling of anticipation simmering low in his belly, a warmth that spreads through his chest when the two of you stroll under the streetlights and eventually reach your doorstep.

You don’t let him turn away.

Somehow, he ends up on your couch. His boots and coat are left by your front door as he sits next to you, a glass of wine finally in his hand to ease the strain of his nerves. Your legs are tucked comfortably underneath yourself, the side of your face resting on the back of the couch, gazing up at him as you talk about nothing in particular.

You never seem to run out of questions for him. He answers the ones he can, and you’re not offended when he avoids the others. 

Tonight, Joel asks you questions too. Things he once thought didn’t matter anymore, but right now, he wants to know them all—where you grew up, your favorite movie, the concerts you’d been to before the world went to hell.

It becomes a back and forth—you ask him a question, he answers. Then it’s his turn to ask a question, and you answer.

Hours go by, wine is refilled, and when it’s your turn again, you ask him with such startling gentleness, “How long has it been since you kissed someone?”

Joel freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. He knows that when he does, he’ll see for sure that you’ve been aware of his pining, his fantasies, all along, and he doesn’t think he can face that.

Instead, he takes another long sip of wine, swallowing down the liquid courage before he answers lowly, “It’s, uh...been a while.”

Silence falls between you then, with more weight to it than any before in that night, and he has to fill it. So he does with the first thing that springs to his mind, “What about you?”

You hum thoughtfully, even as his heart lurches in his chest when the question spills from his lips. He can’t believe he actually fucking asked that, and then you actually answer it, “A couple months ago.”

Joel’s head snaps up, eyes glancing over your face as you trace the rim of your glass with a thoughtful expression.

“Was it…” he hesitates, before deciding he may as well say whatever he wants now that he’s already gone ahead and fucked it all up by asking about it in the first place, “good?”

“Nah,” you sigh, shrugging casually as you smirk in amusement at the recollection, “it’s like he was eating my face.”

Joel snorts at that, brow arching as he retorts dryly, “You go on a date with a Clicker or somethin’?”

You laugh then, head tilting back with the joyful sound, and he realizes it’s something he wants to hear for the rest of his life, even as you playfully nudge his shoulder and mutter, “Shut up.”

He chuckles along with you, looking back down into his glass as a sigh falls from his lips, and he mumbles more to himself than you, “Not sure I’d be much better, at this point.”

Suddenly, you shift beside him, pulling his attention back to you as you sit up straight. There’s a spark of interest kindling in your eyes, one that makes his throat go dry as your eyes slowly scan over his face, down to his lips.

They part under your attention, and your pupils dilate in the darkness of the room, pulling a soft exhale from Joel’s mouth at the sight of you wanting.

You.

Wanting.

“I don’t know about that,” you murmur as you set your glass down on your coffee table, then do the same with his, tugging it easily from his grasp before leaning in towards him. “But we could find out.”

Joel licks his lips, and you’re on your hands and knees now, crawling towards him on the couch as his eyelids flutter and he rasps out, “I—darlin’, I don’t think I—”

“You don’t want to?” you whisper, stopping instantly at the idea of going too far, and horror rushes through him at the thought of you believing he didn’t want you.

“No, that’s not—” he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He exhales heavily into his palm, trying to find the words before he removes it to admit, “I just…don’t think it’d be that enjoyable for ya.”

You scoff, leaning forward to settle on your knees right beside him, fingertips finding the edge of his jawline. They run across it, and Joel’s eyes fall shut, sighing from the sensation of being touched after so long, of it being your hands on his face when you cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones so softly. 

You stroke his skin like you were holding something delicate, and not a living, breathing instrument of death with the scars to prove it right under your palms.

What did you see in him?

“Joel,” you breathe, and a whimper gets caught in his throat, his eyes blinking back open, struggling to refocus on you under the heavy heat of the moment. “Do you want to?”

He doesn’t have to think twice, doesn’t even want to as his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, a desperate beg of, “Yes.”

Your lips are on his then, and his hand finds the small of your back, tugging you into him as he groans into the mouth he’s been dreaming of, day and night, for months on end.

Joel tries to be gentle with it, but it feels so fucking good, and God, now his hands are shaking. He has to grip onto your waist tightly to anchor himself to the moment, to remind himself that you’re there. This isn’t one of his vivid daydreams, or images that taunt him in his sleep that he’ll wake up painfully hard from.

No, you’re here, lips pliable and just as wanting as his when his tongue tentatively traces the shape of them, knowing the curve of your mouth from long stolen glimpses even with his eyes closed, even through just the touch of his lips to them alone. 

Your mouth opens eagerly, and he licks into it, moans deeply into the sweet taste of you. His hand slides up your back to cup your neck, fingers tangling into the back of your hair as he tugs you forward by the waist until you’re settled in his lap, so he can wrap you up and pull you into him completely.

When your lips leave his, he tries to chase them with a whine stuck in the back of his throat, and he can feel that pretty smile pressed to his skin when you kiss along his bearded jaw and down the strength of his neck as it strains under your attention. 

Joel’s head falls back, sinking into the couch with the feeling of your lips descending, until there’s a sweet bite of pain that pulls his lips apart. It tugs a throaty grunt straight from the pit of heat building in his lower stomach, his hips bucking up hard into your own.

His hands are clutching your waist, the sweet syllables of your name pouring from his mouth like a prayer. The sound of his desperation, his need for you vibrates against your lips as you suck a mark on his neck, your tongue flattening against it and pulling another weak bucking up of his hips.

Your head lifts, gazing down at him with lidded eyes and a giddy smile at this mountain of a man you’d pulled apart and wrapped around your finger so easily, before you tap that very finger against the same spot on your own neck.

Joel’s jaw drops.

“I—sweetheart, I—”

He can’t find the words, can’t explain how he’s afraid he’s far too rough to do such a thing. It’s been too long, he’s out of practice, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

You just smile down at what he leaves unspoken, some look in your eyes that makes him tremble as you brush your hands through his hair and whisper, “You’re capable of much more softness than you realize, Joel Miller.”

A warmth eases his concern at your words, and he lets you guide his face to your neck, his lips finding your skin for a tentative kiss there. You’re putting yourself in his hands now, trusting him not to break you, just as he trusts you to lead him through this forgotten territory until it was familiar to him again.

Joel breathes you in, large hands grasping at your back as he pulls your body firmly against his, tongue darting out to taste your skin before he bites down softly.

There’s a moan that floats from your lips then, the most sweet, seductive music to his ears that’ll replay in his mind for nights to come, and Joel sucks at the skin, eager to leave his mark on you as you did him. He’s grasping desperately at your body now as you grind down into his lap, unwilling to ever let you go now that he has you.

Heavy breaths fill the air as you bring his face back up to yours, and you just kiss. Lips swelling from the attention, and Joel never wants to stop, even though he knows he’ll have to eventually.

When he does, the two of you finally needing to actually catch your breath, your forehead rests against his with a quiet sigh. It sounds dangerously like contentment, and it takes a moment before Joel realizes that such a thing isn’t so dangerous anymore.

Your nose bumps against his, and he whispers hoarsely, “How was that?”

You laugh, sounding just as breathless and raspy as him, and he can’t stop the goofy smile that stretches across his face when you hum, “Mm, I’ll need more evidence before I draw any conclusions.”

Joel’s lips meet yours again, a softer kiss shared this time, leaving the promise of more that he’d never thought he’d be able to make before he pulls back, and your smile returning his own tells him all he’s ever needed to know.

“That can be arranged.”

“Because your dad’s getting older and if you’re not careful Ryan will try to take advantage of you. We’ve seen what he can do with no remorse. Some of the things that he’s made us or tried to make us do… It’s not all like he made it out to be, but you’ve already agreed to join, so if you don’t come now he’ll kill you, and if you hadn’t agreed to join he’d have killed you,” Tommy said while Joel still stood, brooding slightly, behind him. You looked from Tommy to Joel, you weren’t dumb, your dad was in his fifties now, and the extra wear and tear on his body these past few years had already started to take its toll. You knew you needed someone who could protect you and watch your back as well as your fathers. You could hold your own, but 4 sets of eyes was always better than 2. And you knew deep down you could find that in Joel. Tommy too. Out of the 8 people, these two seemed the most genuine. You may have just met them, but you are very good at reading people.

“Okay. I still need to talk to my dad, but okay,” you said. They seemed satisfied with that answer and you expected them to leave, but they grabbed the dishes, took them to the basin of water you had in the kitchen, pulled out some chairs from the table, and began washing them, solidifying in your mind that, yeah, they were good people. 

The next day was hard as you prepared to leave the only home you’d ever known. You packed your bag with the obvious things you’d need and then you grabbed some sentimental necessities. Your mother’s necklace (a gold chain with a locket that had dried white wildflowers in the center and a picture of your family inside), her wedding ring, and the Barbie pink bracelet you made out of the fabric from Hazel’s dress. Her room was a wreck after, but the dress had been untouched in the garment bag.

The rest of the group packed up some extra bags with your canned goods and also added some to their packs, as did you and your father. He also went and let out the animals so that they could roam free and let some of the people know you were leaving and gave them some supplies that you guys couldn’t carry. By the middle of the day, you were set to leave. 

You went out to visit their graves one last time to say goodbye. You both decided to say goodbye separately so that the group couldn’t sneak off with the truck without you, but also just so that you both could have some privacy. Your father went first and was only there for about 5 minutes, but it felt like ages just sitting around with the strangers you were about to travel the country with. You trudged your way over to the wildflower field where they laid, and you did as you always had done. Remove the few wilting flowers, since you only put them there yesterday, but this time you didn’t replace them with new ones. You wouldn’t be here to replace them anymore. No one would, and you didn’t want them stuck with dead flowers for eternity.

“Hey guys,” you said sheepishly. It didn’t matter that it had been 6 years since they died, talking to a rock never got easier. “I know Dad probably already told you, but we’re leaving town finally.” Your eyes started to well up a bit and you didn’t know why. “I know you loved this house, mom, and you never wanted us to leave it, but we can’t stay here anymore by ourselves, it’s just too risky and Dad and I are too weak on our own. So we’re joining a group of travelers. Specifically these two brothers.” Your Dad had agreed earlier in the day, which surprised you. It didn’t even take any attempts to convince him. You wondered if he knew something you didn’t. You turned towards the other of the identical stones. “Hazel Elizabeth,” you swallowed thickly, “I hope you’re winning pageants up there and enjoying life… unlike me,” you added. 

Before you could cry anymore, you and your fistfull of wilted wildflowers went back to the front of your house where everyone was waiting in the driveway. You chucked the flowers onto the front porch with a huff. The wilted petals on the porch made the house a visual representation of rejection. You turned and wordlessly climbed into the passenger’s seat of your dad’s pickup and the rest of the group followed. Ryan naturally climbed in the backseat but to your surprise the other seat became occupied by Joel. He and Tommy must have wanted to make sure one of them was listening to both halves of the group’s conversations. But regardless, you were headed off to Boston and leaving Hazel behind. The place, and the person.

—

Life in the group wasn’t bad… at first. Ryan did try to make a few moves on you, but thanks to Tommy and Joel he never made it far. Never far enough to scar you, at least. You were also right to join the Tommy and Joel side of the group.  They weren’t kidding when they said the boys were narcissistic, selfish, assholes and the other three genuinely were fucking each other… frequently. Joel didn’t talk much, if at all, but when he did talk it was mostly to you or Tommy, nowadays mostly you. Tommy had started to get distant lately too, the things you all had done starting to get to him. You assumed life out here would be rough, but this was a new level. Infected, FEDRA, and people were worse than you’d imagined. You’d met your first set of clickers not too long ago. You lost Blake. No one talked about it. Ryan killed him before he turned. Ryan had some kind of obsession with killing—in another world he would probably be a serial killer. His obsession forced you all to do what you were told or he would kill you, like Tommy said, and he’d like it. Doing what Ryan told you involved killing a lot of innocent people for their supplies. You only argued with him about trying to negotiate once before he showed you what happens when you question him. That demonstration was now turning into a scar across your thigh. Joel was pissed and so was your dad, but they knew better than to do anything

You’d lost the truck a couple months back, something happening to it during an attack from other raiders. Joel and Tommy tried their best to fix it, but unfortunately it just wasn’t something they could patch up. So you’d been walking since then. The toll that took on your father was heavier than you’d feared, but he was hanging in there, either for his sake or yours. 

“Hey! Welcome to Pennsylvania!” Luke announced.

“Well we’re at least in the state of one of the QZs we’re headed to,” Sash said. The decision had been made a while back that the likelihood of all 9 of you  making it into the Boston QZ was unlikely, so closer to the Philadelphia QZ - Ryan, Luke, Vicki, Phillip, and Sash would head there - Joel, Tommy, you, and your dad would keep going on to Boston. 

“This state is also hopefully flatter than the last few, I refuse to climb a mountain ever again,” Luke said breathlessly. He was certainly the group’s clown.

“I see a gas station up ahead, we can stop there for the night, see if there’s anything,” Ryan said. He and Luke went in and cleared the building first. Naturally, there wasn’t much left but some jerky. You ate a bit of that and packed some more for later before laying out your sleeping bag between your father and Joel. Phillip offered to take the first watch and after the sun went down you were all tired so there wasn’t much small talk before you all slowly drifted to sleep. 

—

You heard it at the same time as Joel. Your eyes snapped open and you made eye contact with him in the moonlight. You couldn’t have been asleep for long, an hour maybe less with the way Joel still looked very much awake. He was never one to sleep well, you’d noticed, but he always at least acted like he was trying. He looked past your head behind you and slowly brought his finger to his lips. A clicker. Where the hell was Phillip? Didn’t Ryan and Luke clear the building? Joel slowly grabbed his gun, squinted one eye and killed it in one shot which startled everyone else awake.

“What the fuck?” Phillip shouted gun clattering to the ground in surprise from where he’d been slumped against the cash register’s counter, asleep. His and everyone else’s dismay, however, turned out to be the least of your worries when you heard more of them barreling up from a basement you didn’t know this place had. At least three, maybe four. While you all started shooting in the dark corner where there were no windows to see Tommy asked what everyone had to have been thinking.

“I THOUGHT YOU CLEARED IT?”

“WE DID! THERE WAS A SHELF OVER THERE THAT WE MOVED AND FOUND A TRAP DOOR BUT NOTHING WAS UNDER THERE I SWEAR. THEY MUST HAVE BEEN HIDING UNDER THERE,” Luke yelled. Dumbasses. You heard Vicki scream as one had managed to lurch toward her and your father moved over to help her. After a short minute or two, thanks to 9 guns and Joel’s ridiculously good aim, you finally managed to get everything under control. You all packed up quickly and went outside just as the sun was rising.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Joel asked sternly.

“How were we supposed to know what was under there after we cleared it?” Luke said defensively. 

“Why didn’t you recover it with the shelf?” Vicki asked while being held by Sash, she looked quite shaken, the clicker had gotten super close to her, she’s really lucky she didn’t get bit.

“Cause we cleared it! Didn’t you Ryan?” Luke desperately asked? Ah, Ryan was the one who “cleared” the crawlspace. You looked at Tommy and Joel who both looked at you and then each other as understanding crossed everyone’s faces. Ryan was more of a, take a look and call it a day kind of checker— not a thorough kind of guy. 

“Hang on you can’t blame this all on us, fucking Phillip fell asleep on watch!” Ryan argued in a sad attempt to continue trying to save his reliability. 

“What did you expect me to do? We’d been walking for miles all day, I was exhausted!” Phillip said.

“Well still, that ain’t how keepin’ watch works,” Tommy piped in putting his two cents in the growing argument money pile.

“GUYS! Guys, we got different things we need to be worried about right now. What’s done is done,” your dad said. You recognized that tone. It was the same tone he used 6 years ago when he told you to go to your room.

“Dad?” you said slowly, taking a step toward him, and he took a step back, “Dad, what the hell are you talking about?” He lifted his arm out and showed you all the bite there. It didn’t look deep, the damn clicker barely had enough of his arm to let all of its teeth break the flesh, but enough of them had. It’d only been maybe 15 minutes since he’d been bit and the bite already looked worse.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” your dad said softly. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you looked at him, the bite, and then him again. No, this wasn’t happening. 

“Shit Mike,” Tommy said.

“Wha- what are we gonna do?” you stuttered. What are you gonna do? You couldn’t let him turn into one of those monsters, not like your family did, but you couldn’t kill your own father. And yet at the same time you didn’t want someone else to kill him either.

“Kill him,” Ryan said, “I don’t think he wants to turn into an infected, do you Mike?”

“He’s right sweetheart, you have to let him kill me, it’ll be easier, you’ll know I didn’t suffer.” You didn’t try to keep the tears at bay now. Your breaths hitched and you were finding it harder and harder to breathe but you shook your head. 

“No, no, I’ll do it,” you said shakily, “I’ll… prevent you from turning.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t ask you to do that,” your dad argued and was immediately followed by protests from the rest of the group as well.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, sunshine,” Joel said. Sunshine, that was new, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about that. You turned to him and tried to plead with your eyes. You weren’t about to let your father’s death be a way for Ryan to get off. Your father had killed your sister and your mother and lived everyday with that burden, surely you will make it with this burden. Somehow, he understood, and you watched him take a breath, look you in the eyes in a way you couldn’t describe, and open his mouth, but before he could offer, you interrupted him.

“I’m doing it,” you turned back to your father, who was crying softly now. Vicki walked up to your father and hugged him.

“Thank you for saving me, you still barely know me, but I’m so sorry,” she said through sobs. You went back into the gas station, your father followed behind  and then moved to stand in front of you. Joel and Tommy went in after but waited at the door. You looked your father in the eyes, trying to memorize every detail, and you realized his hand was slowly twitching as he brought it up to your face, like Hazel’s did, and you held his hand.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, but I need you to promise me something. Keep going, don’t let this hold you back from finding a better life. Keep thinking of others even in times like these, you know it's what your mother would have wanted. Promise me,” he said through sobs.

“I promise,” you choked out. You were trying so hard to be strong for him. You didn’t want his last memory of you to be one of weakness, no matter how heartbreaking this whole situation is.

“Your mother, Hazel, and I will be waiting for you when you’re ready, so take your time, but sweetheart, nothing you’ve done has ever wavered my belief that you are a kind, smart, beautiful woman just trying to find her way in this broken world. I love you my sweet girl,” he pulled you into a hug and you squeezed him, trying to memorize the feeling of his heart beating against you.

“I love you too,” you finally sobbed out.

“Look out for her and please take care of her,” your father asked Joel and Tommy over your shoulder. There wasn’t a single second of hesitation before Joel said.

“We will.”

“Of course,” Tommy said. The Millers, despite it all, were good people and deep down you trusted them to keep their promise. 

Your father pulled away first and you held his still twitching hand. “We’re running low on time, sweetheart. I don’t want you to see me any worse,” your father said softly and he kept your hand in his until he turned around and kneeled to the ground. You attempted to control your breathing, blinking back your tears. The worst thing you could do right now is miss and have to shoot your father twice. You knew he was exaggerating the time frame. He probably still had hours before things would become unsafe, at least that’s what you could put together from your encounters with people before they got infected, but you didn’t want to see him get any worse.

“It’s okay, sweet girl, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay sweet girl,” your father repeated over and over. You summoned whatever power your dad had that night so many years ago. You looked at the back of his head and raised your gun, you inhaled, looked away, exhaled, and bang.

You dropped to the ground as did your fathers body, your knees already soaked in your father’s blood. Your father, who you had just murdered. You saw your gun get kicked away by a black boot and large arms were wrapped around you as you looked up to see… Joel, comforting you, holding you, and talking to you. You could see his mouth moving but you couldn’t hear him quite yet. You could still barely breathe. All you could do was scream.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, sunshine, just breathe. Just breathe, breathe with me.” You somehow managed to focus enough to hear what he was saying over your gut wrenching cries and eventually slow your breathing enough to go from screams to quiet cries in his arms. You felt another hand on your back and you assumed it to be Tommy’s. He blocked your view of your father with his body and your knuckles were white from the grip you had on Joel’s jacket.

You stayed there for a few minutes before suddenly standing up from where you were on the ground with Joel and Tommy and composed yourself. You’d shown enough emotion, but you all had places to be. This wasn’t a world where you had time to mourn or the safety to be vulnerable. You could only move on and use your grief to fuel your need for survival.

“We should get going soon, don’t want to waste anymore time,” you said.

“Okay. I think I might look around for a second. Help me, will ya Joel?” Tommy said softly, but you already headed outside where the rest of the group was. They all were just looking at you, they no doubt heard your screams so they must have been surprised when you emerged first with Joel and Tommy following a few minutes after. Joel handed you your gun back and you put it in the waistband of your jeans. There was still something different in his eyes when he looked at you but you had no idea what it was. Everyone looked at you with a sort of pity, even Ryan, but Joel’s was something else.

“Lets go,” you said and started walking East to Philadelphia, with Joel following right behind you, followed by Tommy, then Vicki, and then the rest of the group. You made a promise to your father, and you intended to keep it.

—

You couldn’t imagine how much further you all walked that day. It was the most you all had ever walked, probably due to the determination after your father’s death combined with the fact you now didn’t have your father’s age wearing you all down. A morbid, but true, fact. You tried to find the good things about your newfound no parent situation. You were 23 years old and had never been a day without one of your parents except for your occasional summer camp stay. You might even be the last of your goddamn bloodline alive since your father had never been able to reach any of his or your mother’s families when the government was still trying to make mail work. Yeah, dumb. You were now officially alone, and that thought almost relieved you. Now you really only have to worry about the safety of yourself. And maybe Joel and Tommy, but they haven’t proved to need your protection so far. 

Your attention was brought back to the present with the burning of your thighs and calves, but feeling that physical pain was helping you deal with your emotional pain, so you decided to just really keep feeling the burn. Joel, Tommy, and you made up the back of the group, Sash, Vick, and Phillip in the middle, and Ryan and Luke in the front as always. This irked you a little bit, the way Ryan’s attitude and temper stopped anyone from arguing with him about whether or not he was trustworthy enough to be leading you all. A deep voice next to you saying something brings you out of your trance.

“What?” you say to Joel.

“Tunnels,” he repeats, “in the weird crawl space basement thing. Some not infected people must have been trying to stay safe down there and dig tunnels to wherever.  Probably came up to use the gas station supplies when one of them must have gotten infected and then…”

“Gotten at least some of ‘em sick and the others climbed out and put the shelf over it. We couldn’t tell ya how far the tunnels went but ya got a lotta time on your hands in 10 years,” Tommy continued. That’s right, 10 years. If you could guess anything about the time of year it must have been March, maybe April based on the weather warming up. Either way, that meant your birthday was coming up soon in May. Not that you’d do anything for it or tell anyone. It was just confirmation of your aging and unavoidable acknowledgement that you were passing milestones Hazel would never get to. Gosh, she’d have turned 18 this year. An official adult. You couldn’t even imagine the chaos.

“So with Ryan’s habit of not being thorough,” Joel growled. 

“I don’t wanna hear either of you say it could have been avoided,” you huffed. In what world did they see telling you this as helping?

“No, we’re not saying that. What we’re trying to get at is that this may be the thing to convince the others Ryan is in no position to lead this. The things he’s done, the things he’s made us do, and the things he doesn’t do that put us in danger can’t be ignored anymore,” Tommy pleads.

“Correction—he’s saying that. I think we should keep our fuckin’ mouths shut until we drop their asses in Philedelphia. I was gonna say his habit of not being thorough and sharing things with the group got your father infected and endangered the rest of us,” Joel whisper shouted at his brother. You three were far enough back that your conversations would at least be muffled to everyone else, but you never know how sound can carry. Plus, the Miller boys could yell.

“Which is exactly my point! Listen, sugar, I just think that if you…” 

“You wanna use my father getting infected as a push point to, what, put you in charge?” you question him. He didn’t have an answer for that. “That’s ridiculous. Joel’s right, just keep your mouth shut for a couple more days and then we’ll be on our own and you can be in charge.” Tommy grabbed your arm, stopping you and forcing you to look at him.

“This isn’t about me being in charge, sugar, this is about the possibility of not letting more innocent people die,” Tommy started calling you sugar when he noticed whenever you ransacked a store for supplies you always looked for gummy candies or something sweet in an attempt to feed your never ending sweet tooth. You used to think the nickname was sweet, made you feel like part of the team, but now it just enraged you.

“Well, sugar,” you say back to him, your voice laced with venom, “We’ve been doing this for almost 4 years together now, and I don’t even know how long you were doing it before then, so I’m not sure what the hell is making you get cold feet all the sudden about the things we’ve done because it’s not gonna change anything. It doesn’t matter who told us to do it, we did it. So I’m sorry that you’re having trouble sleeping at night, but if we’re going to make it to Boston we have to leave things as they are.” Both Miller boys looked at you with their jaws slightly dropped. Losing your father had already started to change things. That was the most words you’d said to anybody at once, even your father, in the 4 years they’ve known you. There was no one there to do the talking while you observed anymore, so you were gonna talk. 

“And my father wasn’t one of the innocent people you need to feel guilty about losing. Did you know I listened to him kill my sister and my mother on outbreak day when they got sick? Did you know that whenever our hospitality started being taken for granted he threatened people with bullets to their legs and shoulders? Or did you know he used to tell me that I couldn’t kill anything, not a farm animal or infected, because a woman shouldn’t have blood on her hands? And all that was before I met you and you know what he did after, so don’t try to make my father out to be some innocent old man who died protecting a stranger.” Your father was a brave man, you loved him more than anything, and maybe it’s just the grief talking, but after the world fell apart, he became a different kind of man. Of course, as always, this was the same old story for most people after the outbreak and the things your father was guilty of, you were guilty of too, but he was not an innocent man. The Miller boys didn’t know this but there were things he did that Ryan didn’t ask him to. Things that were too dark, even for you. He’d have done anything to protect you, he just didn’t know when it was too far.

“Is there a problem here?” Ryan asked. You hadn’t realized in your rage that you’d called attention from the rest of the group.

“No,” you said, “just talking to Tommy about how I killed my father today. What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” You finished your response with a smile. Mentioning killing someone distracted Ryan and made everyone else uncomfortable, given the situation. Then, asking what Ryan wanted the plan to be reminded him that he was in charge and stroked his ego so he’d forget what started the conversation and wouldn’t get suspicious about your argument with Tommy. Therefore, if anyone else was still suspicious, they wouldn’t mention it now. 

If you had to name your top three strengths it would be observant, tactical, and seductive. You had an allure that pulled people in like no one in your group had ever seen. And sometimes you didn’t even have to try, they’d just look at you and do what you suggested. This especially worked on men because most of them think with their dicks and boy did you have the looks to make their pants twitch. It hadn’t worked out in your favor a couple times, but Joel would always barge in and rescue you. He had an effect on people that ignited fear, but you knew who he really was. He’d only been too late once, and he swore never again.

“Well, looking at the sun we got roughlyyy 2 hours to sunset, so I say we use the rest of our time to find a spot to spend the night. We should make it to Philadelphia within the fortnight,” Ryan said. You all made your way into a neighborhood that had been bombed after outbreak day and found a house that had managed to stay mostly intact. 

“Joel and I will do the sweep,” Tommy said and you smiled at him softly. You may have had an argument earlier, but you knew where he was coming from deep down and you couldn’t blame him.

After the sweep and looking to see if there was anything useful left in the house, everyone ate food from their packs and by dusk everyone was getting ready to settle in for the night. Today you laid your sleeping bag in between Tommy and Joel.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Joel said quickly. He made eye contact with you but neither of you said anything. You shimmied down into your sleeping bag, watching as Joel positioned himself in front of the window, you glanced down and when you looked back up, Joel was looking at you. Eventually, sleep lulled you away and you felt safer than you had in months knowing Joel was the one watching over you.

—

It had been roughly two weeks since your father died, well since you killed him, and they were really tough. Not just for you and your grief, but for Tommy and Joel too. Their relationship had become a bit strained since you had a run in with another group of raiders and Tommy had held back. Which caused you and Joel to step up to cover his lack of  “results” as Ryan would say. You did things you didn’t even know you were capable of because your father had never let you, and Joel delivered as always. He had this ability to just zone out into a blind rage and finish his “tasks.” This was starting to frustrate Tommy more and more every time Joel had to do something. Thankfully you should only be a few hours out from Philadelphia, and under the cover of night, over half your group would split and it would just be you and the Millers. Then hopefully when your decisions were in your own hands Tommy would calm down a bit and realize you have to do what you have to to survive out here.

“There it is,” Phillip said, “the Philadelphia QZ.” The QZ was surrounded by a large concrete wall, making it look more intimidating than safe. 

“Alright, we’ll get a little closer, wait till dark, then part ways,” Ryan said.

By nightfall, the group had dished out what supplies they had left to you and the Millers and started making their advance into the QZ. The plan was to go around to the side, cut a hole in the chain link fence, and sneak in through the tunnels. 

They never made it. The FEDRA guards must have noticed movement because before you knew it they were firing their weapons and your group members were being blown to bits. Safely hidden, you weren’t worried about getting hit yourself, just what might happen if they came out to assess the bodies and found you. So you ran off quickly, trying to process what just happened. They’re supposed to let people into the QZs, that’s the purpose of them. Would that happen to us?

“I don’t think we can sneak in,” you said after the running/walking in the dark you had been partaking in.

“The fuck you mean?” Joel said to you.

“You watched them get blown to bits because they probably saw the movement and thought they were infected. We’re not infected, so why shouldn’t we be able to walk in the front doors?” you questioned them. If Tommy doesn’t want to do things Ryan’s way anymore, here’s a start. “Look either way, we either get into the QZ or die.”

“We’re getting into that QZ,” Tommy said.

“Yes we will,” Joel confirmed, “but first we sleep, we’re far enough out now, I’ll watch.”

“Are you sure? You watched last night,” Tommy pried.

“Yeah I can do it Joel,” you pleaded him. If anything, you wanted time to process through watching your “friends” get blown up right before you. 

“Fine, but wake me up when you get tired,” Joel said.

“Or me,” Tommy added, annoyed.

Both brothers got into their sleeping bags, still on either side of you, and they went to sleep. You clutched your gun in your hand a little tighter, you rarely kept watch when your dad was around, someone else just always ended up taking it or he did, but you didn’t mind it. It gave you a real chance to think. And tonight you had quite a bit to think about. You didn’t let yourself get super close to anyone other than Joel and Tommy, it was too much of a risk to get close with everyone because of all the uncertainty out there. It wasn’t anything personal, it was more of a protection method.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t things you’d miss and times you’d think about. Naturally, since you, Sash, and Vick were together all the time your cycles ended up linking up. When that happened and you hadn’t found any pads or tampons in a while, you would use old ripped up clothes instead. Whenever you were near a body of water, the three of you would get up early and rinse them out and just talk as if you weren’t in the middle of an apocalypse. You couldn’t even remember what you’d even talk about but you just remember laughing with them until one of the guys would uncomfortably call you back. They were always so on edge when you all were on your periods.

There was also the time during one of Vick, Sash, and Phil’s night time exercise sessions that woke everyone up. At the beginning, it always woke you up but eventually you could sleep through it. This one night in particular, however, the three of them were so lost in the moment when Vick was supposed to be keeping watch that they didn’t realize the shelf they were fucking against wasn’t that stable and they knocked it over onto Blake, Luke, and Ryan with a huge crash. Thankfully, the shelves in the gas station were mostly empty and the boys didn’t have anything more severe than some deep cuts, bad bruises, and sore bodies but none of them kept watch for a while after that.

Blake also had a thing for you for a while. He’d always try to walk by you, talk to you, and offer you things, much to the annoyance of both Joel and Tommy because then they couldn’t talk to you or your father about anything that he would run off to tell Ryan about. He was a sweet guy and everything, he even picked some wildflowers for you one time which did genuinely touch you. Plus he was a better guy than Ryan but he was bitten by an infected, you didn’t cry about it.

Then there was what plagued your mind the most, your father. Who he was before and the man you ignored he was becoming. You wanted to keep your childhood innocent version of him in your mind but then you’d think about things he willingly did, and your image of him in your mind started blurring into someone you didn’t want to acknowledge, which is what hurt the most. You knew you’d started to push him away when you started traveling 4 years ago, so you can’t help but blame yourself for what he became. Which you know isn’t fair, but you can’t help that’s the way it makes you feel. You sighed to yourself in frustration and blinked back a few tears and looked up at the stars. That was one thing you appreciate about the lack of electricity, less light pollution, more stars. Through the trees you found the little and big dippers and some other constellations.

Madison smugly raised her hand and you visibly cringed before the smart ass remark you knew she was about to make made its way to the surface. She’s your “neighbor” because her family is the only people who live within 6 miles from your house. “If you give us a pop quiz every Friday, is it even a pop quiz anymore?” She said and the Junior boys giggled. Gross.

“And yet some of you are still surprised,” Mrs. Charleson replied, smiling just as smartly. That made you and many other students laugh, proving why she was without a doubt your favorite teacher.

—

You aced your quiz. When the final bell rang you couldn’t wait to get out of there. Something was just off with everyone today but you couldn’t quite decide what it was. You headed to your locker to grab your snack of raisins and peanuts and then started walking in the direction of the local dress shop where your sister would be getting the final alterations done to her dress for the Hazel Day pageant.

“Hey Hazie!” you shout as you walk in and see your adorable baby sister. Her blonde curls somehow so effortlessly laid across her shoulders.

Hazie shrieks your name in excitement, “Come look at my dress!!” You walk further into the dress shop to see your sister in her Barbie pink pageant gown that you’d guess weighed more than she did soaking wet. It had everything a girl like Hazie could ever dream of, pink ribbons, ruffles, and even lace.

“Well aren’t you just the prettiest princess!” You said giving her a twirl.

“Oh don’t move so much I haven’t taken out the last pin!” Mrs. Vivian said. She was the owner of the dress shop and also the old woman from the market who took your mom to have a baby in her bathtub. She gave your mom a discounted rate for alterations for your sister’s endless pageant dress collection which helped your parents be able to support her pageant dreams. It was still a fucking expensive hobby and your parents definitely had more financial strain because of it, but whatever to make your little Hazie happy. 

Once alterations were done, Mrs. Vivian promised to have it done by October 1st which was 3 days before Hazel Day. “And don’t worry about this round of alterations Lillian, this one’s on me,” Mrs. Vivian said.

“Oh Vivian I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that,” your mother frantically replied. She absolutely hated accepting help from anyone.

“No, no, I insist! It’s a birthday present for our future junior pageant Queen.”

“Well, thank you, could I still at least give you a tip?” Your mother began bargaining. Mrs. Vivian along with everyone else was obsessed with your sister. Disney Princesses may not be real but they came to life in sweet Hazel Elizabeth. She deadass would have squirrels and birds and whatever else following her around, it was bizarre. But you couldn’t deny the fact that the effect of the sweet beacon of innocence and joy your sister had on people affected you too. Hazie was your everything, there’s not a single thing you wouldn’t do to protect her, not that she needed it. She may be pretty and cute, but she had quite the stubborn head on her shoulders.

“Momma can I have one more cookie before we go?” Hazel asked with the biggest doe eyes you ever did see, in what world would your mother ever be able to say no to her?

“You’ve already had two… how about half if you split it with your sister?” Your mother replied. 

“Okay!” Hazel grabbed the chocolate chip raisin cookies Mrs. Vivian had made and split it mostly in half and handed you the other piece. You were still a little hungry, but you’d just had your snack of raisins and decided that your daily tolerance of their texture was up, so you slipped Hazel the half she gave you on your walk back to the car.

“Shh,” you smiled at her, winking and watching her sweet blue eyes brighten at the sight of what would complete her third cookie. You tossed your backpack in the trunk next to Hazel’s homeschool books and popped in the front seat next to your mom. Your parents decided to homeschool your sister when the pageants and travel started affecting her ability to attend school. Plus it was one less thing your parents would have to pay for, so most of Hazel’s school supplies were just your old school supplies. It seemed like your mom kept everything you or Hazel ever touched. 

“Mommy? I feel a little funny.” Hazel piped up from the backseat, interrupting your looking-out-the-window-music-video-vibe you had going on while listening to Beyonce’s newest hit “Crazy in Love.”

“Honestly me too Hazie. Now yours may have to do with the three- yes, three- cookies you ate today. I saw you trying to be sneaky,” your mother glanced at you for a second, “but I think the weather’s changing so it may have something to do with that too.”

“Yeah it’s probably just a bug going around. People were weird today at school too,” you added, trying to ease Hazel’s worries.

“A BUG?? I don’t wanna be sick for my birthday Mommy,” Hazel pouted.

“Oh you won’t, love. It’ll pass, I promise. Do you have any homework today?” 

“No, just a test I need to study for in science.” You saw an opportunity and decided to take it. “So I’m not sure I can go to the pre-banquet tonight.”

“WHAT?” Hazel shouted from the backseat.

“Your sister’s right, the banquet won’t be a good use of her time if she needs to study. She’ll be at the pageant though, don’t worry.” Your mom’s obsession with your studies increased once your parents pulled Hazel from school, so you couldn’t be happier to study for your science test. Sitting in a stuffy room all dressed up eating stale food and surrounded by a bunch of snobby girls and their mothers was not how you wanted to spend your evening. You liked dressing up for church on Sundays and special occasions and you wore a little makeup every day, but you certainly were no pageant girl.

“Gosh it’s already 5:00. Help Hazel get ready will you? We need to leave in 45 minutes if we wanna make it there by 6:20…” your mom got out of the car rambling. If your dad was a chronic worrier your mother was an incessant worrier.

“Come on Hazie, let's get you all dressed up,” you said. You were no makeup artist, but for only being 14 and hardly wearing any makeup, you considered yourself pretty good. It was probably due to having done your sister’s makeup for so long. You may not like doing it very much, but you loved making Hazel happy and this definitely made her happy. 

“Stop jittering so much. I can barely get this eyeliner on straight and you know I’m no good at eyeliner anyway,” you said.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just cold," your sister said softly. You immediately felt terrible and grabbed a light pink blanket off her bed and draped it over her shoulders.

“Maybe you are getting sick?” You took your hands to her forehead, but she was cold. “Huh no fever, though.” You more or less got her eyeliner on and started to touch up where her natural curls had flattened. Then you pulled the front bits back into a half up half down look and applied just a touch of tinted lip gloss. She may be required to wear makeup for these pageants but you still wanted her to look more like herself. 

“Thank you sissy,” Hazel said and gave you a big hug.

“Of course. And always remember you’re my favorite princess and you’re so so beautiful no matter what anyone says about you,” you said. You’d always been worried about what the effect of pageant life would have on her. You’d seen how deathly skinny some of the older pageant girls are, but you’re just glad Hazel still wants a third cookie.

“HAZEL ELIZABETH WE NEED TO LEAVE!”

“You better go. You know what mom’s like when she thinks she's gonna be late,” you warn your sister.

“I don’t know why she thinks we’re gonna be late, right now we’re still getting there 25 minutes early.”

“Ah, but,” you start.

“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is just unacceptable,” you and Hazel quote your mother perfectly. 

“HAZEL!” Your sister's eyes widen as she gives you a kiss on the cheek and then runs out of her room. You hear your mother shout love and goodbye, but leaves you no time to respond before the door slams and you’re met with silence. 

Just how you like it.

—

When your dad came in from the fields to find you at home, he wasn’t at all surprised, but that did mean you had to help him out with a few final things he wanted to get finished up today. When you tried to fix up something for dinner you realized your mom has been so preoccupied with Hazel and the pageant next weekend that going to the market must have slipped her mind, so you both settled on popcorn for dinner. 

“Now if we’re having popcorn for dinner, we have to watch a movie,” your dad said, shrugging.

“I think you’re right.” You could study for the test later. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Hmmm, how about Harry Potter?”

“Sorcerer's Stone or Chamber of Secrets?”

“Chamber of Secrets for sure. I wanna watch the scene of Hermione as that nightmarish cat” your dad replied. You started searching the DVD cabinet for the movie. “By the way, when’s the third one supposed to come out?”

“Uhhh sometime next summer I think? Ya know, you could just read the books to find out what happens.”

“And spoil the movie?! I would never,” your dad dramatically puts his hand out in front of you, reminding you where Hazel gets all her sass from. You, on the other hand, were more like your mother- empathetic to all, but protective of those you care about. Always a silent watcher and observer, thinking and planning what the correct response or move should be in a situation. It’s why your dad refuses to play board games anymore because either you or your mom would destroy him and Hazel and then it was just a battle between the two of you to see who could outsmart the other. You’d only beaten your mother once. She always seemed to be one step ahead of you. She claims it’s what happens when you become a parent, you’re too mentally prepared for any option to be surprised when something happens. Your dad would always say that’s bullshit because it’s never helped him out, which then turns into your mother scolding him for cursing around Hazel. You work with him in the barn so you’ve heard all the profanities, thanks to his frustrations, so she's not worried about you. She’s under the impression you just filter it out and have the vocabulary of a saint, but in reality you just don’t do it around her and your dad graciously hasn’t told her. 

About thirty minutes into the movie, your dad is passed out on the couch so you head upstairs to study for your test on Monday. Whatever made your teacher decide a test after the weekend was a good idea needs to be reevaluated. You plopped down at your desk, opened your textbook and notes, and began to go through them. You had stayed up late the night before studying the reading for the “pop quiz” you took today so your eyes started drooping a lot faster than you thought they would and before you knew it you had passed out on your desk reading your notes.

—

It was 11:30 when you heard it. A strange, croaking noise coming from down the hall that awoke you from your impromptu nap. You were a little disoriented from falling asleep at your desk. Your desk lamp was off, so you assumed one of your parents had shut it off before they went to bed. You turned the lamp back on and realized you had drooled on your notes. Shit. You had only smudged the ink a little bit and decided they were legible enough before you heard it again. Is there a fucking frog in the house? You tried to reason with your very sleep clouded brain when the croaking got closer and you heard a door creak. You got up from your desk chair to peek out your door and saw a small shadow had appeared in the darkness of the hallway. Assuming she also heard the freaky croaking noises and got scared, you called out to her in a whisper.

“Hazie? Are you okay?”

She tilted her head at you and you heard more croaking.

“Hazie…?” 

She jumped at you, and an inhuman sound came out of her–a shriek or scream or something you couldn’t even begin to describe. Before you knew it she was on you, clawing, snapping her teeth, and scratching. You were quite a bit bigger than her, and Hazel has always been quite small for her age so you could overtake her physically, but the mental hurdle of trying to understand what she was doing was a battle.

“Hazel? Hazie? Hazel? What the hell is going on, stop it!” You were wrestling with her at the top of the stairs and were starting to get scared she was gonna take you both down them. She kept croaking and screeching and suddenly the light was turned on. Your father stood at the bottom of the stairs, not croaking thankfully, but looking confused. When your mom and sister came home they must have left your dad on the couch and shut your lamp off.

“What the fuck are you two doing? Get off her!” You didn’t know who he was referring to but you didn't have time to ask before you heard more shrieks and inhumane croaks coming from your parents room. The door was shut but it was shaking like someone was pounding on it.

“Dad, something is wrong,” you said, starting to panic now at the possibility your mother would come barreling out of the room acting just like Hazel, or worse. Your dad started moving up the stairs, causing Hazel to suddenly stop attacking you and fly at your father, straight down the stairs. Hazel, or this creature that looked like Hazel, missed your dad completely and basically just flung herself down the stairs. That fall should have killed her or broken a bone at the very least, but she hit the bottom and just got straight back up, then turned to look at the two of you. The croaking and shrieking coming from your parents room was now partnered with sirens and helicopters outside. You didn’t know what was happening but you knew everything was changing much too fast for your liking. 

Hazel stood there, staring at you and your father, and started twitching. Similarly to how she had while you were doing her makeup, but more violent. She opened her mouth and in the light from the lamp in the living room and the one above the stairs you could see that there was a tendril-looking plant coming out of your sister's mouth that was moving on its own. You almost thought you were hallucinating. Something compelled your father to move. He barreled down the few stairs he’d come up and grabbed your sister by the neck like he was about to choke her, moving her head up to immobilize it. He studied her for a second before throwing her in the kitchen pantry and shutting the door. She started croaking again. But now she was also screaming. Not the shrieks from before, it sounded like the Hazel you knew. Screams she’d make when she saw a bug or got dirt on her hands. Screams she made when she fell off her bike. Screams like how she should have screamed when she flung herself down the stairs. 

Your dad calling your name brought you out of your daze. “I need you to grab something heavy that I can put in front of the door,” he shouted over Hazel and your mother’s screams. You’d never heard so much noise. So much unpleasant noise and it was loud. Loud. So, so loud. You couldn’t think. You could barely will yourself to move from the top of the stairs. Your arms stung and were sticky with blood pouring from where Hazel had scratched you. Could you even say that was Hazel? A more concerning bang from your parents door made you run down the stairs much faster. You could take Hazel in a fight like that, but definitely not your mother. Thankfully, the door held through. You don’t know where you found the strength to push the DVD cabinet in front of the pantry door. Just a few hours ago you were searching through it to find Harry Potter, and now you’re using it to trap your “sister” in the pantry. 

“What is happening?” You frantically asked your father. More like yelling at your father over the noise. You just needed it to stop being so loud so you could think. 

“I don’t know.” Your father moved from the pantry door that was barely holding on due to your sister trying to break through it. She isn’t that strong. She can’t be that strong? Your dad turns the TV on to see news reports of towns and cities on fire, people killing what looks like other people before cameras could cut away. The signal was barely pulling through, but you could see enough. When the signal was fully cut out, your dad moved to the radio, where they were talking about people who were acting similar to your mom and sister, and how they’re not safe and people need to run or kill them. Then there were croaks and screams and the signal went out and all you heard from the radio was static. Static, screaming, shrieking, your father’s heavy breathing, you couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“Go to your room, shut the door, lock it, and stay in there until I come get you,” your father moved over to his desk in his office and took his gun out of the drawer and loaded it.

“Dad…? What the fuck are you doing?” You followed him, but suddenly heard gunshots in the distance and more sirens and you both looked out the window. It was rare to hear sirens all the way out where you lived, so you both knew that if you could hear them, it didn't mean anything good.

“What everyone else is,” he said, turning from the window to look at you. He moved to where you were at the front of his office and you could see the conflict in his eyes when he looked at you. “I don’t want this on your conscience.” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You started to cry. You cried, the shrieks blending in with your sobs. You so desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

“I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” You looked up and your father was crying too. In your 14 years of life you had never seen your dad cry. That scared you even more. 

“Go in your room,” he said sternly, trying to hide his emotions and tears. You wordlessly followed his orders, taking one last look at the pantry, the pounding on the door was going to be the last thing you saw your sister do alive. Your father was about to kill your sister, and your mother. And you were not only letting him, you almost felt thankful. They won’t have to suffer anymore. At the top of the stairs, right before the door to your room, you watched the pounding on the door to your parents room too before slipping into your room and closing the door, locking it, and staying there. Just as you were told. You’d always been a rule follower, but you just never thought it would be something like this.

A few minutes passed before you heard the DVD cabinet get moved and the pantry door finally break open. You assumed your dad had to talk himself into what he was about to. Then you heard it. Bang. A set of croaking stopped and you heard your dad’s sobs as he climbed up the stairs. You sobbed into the pillows of your bed. Then you heard the same thing as before, the door opened, and then the gun went off.

Bang.

And you’re met with silence, but this time you don’t like it.

—

6 years later, date unknown, year 2009

It was a beautiful day. Sunny with a soft breeze. You stood at the two matching headstones with the wildflowers you’d gathered, taking the dead ones out of the pot and adding the new ones. You and your father had stolen the headstones a few weeks after outbreak day. You couldn’t even really say stolen. The owner had gotten infected, and no one was really around to stop you. You and your father carved their names into them that night and wheelbarrowed them over to where you buried them the next morning. Lillian Rose and Hazel Elizabeth. You saw their bodies, for closure purposes. Both with a bullet in the head and cordyceps, you now knew, in their mouths. They didn’t look like them, which helped only a little bit because it didn’t help any with the fact they were dead. 

Your father and you drove into town the morning after and got a little bit of information. What law enforcement had told them to do in town, none of them apparently cared enough to go out to the countryside assuming we were all dead. Then what we knew so far about the people being dubbed “the infected,” it passed through bites so you were okay since you only got scratched but you and your dad were both on edge for a few days. And that the town leaders left were calling for a meeting to see who was alive and who wasn’t. 

Out of the 450 people in Hazel, 25 people remained. Two of which being you and your father, so 23 others. Most of them were the only ones of their families to survive. It seemed like if you didn’t get sick, a family member bit you before you could do anything or register what was happening. That seemed to be what happened to your neighbors. Your dad killed a lot of infected people that day, including Madison and her family. It seemed like her parents had gotten sick and attacked her because she had a bite mark and they didn’t.

 The general consensus of the meeting was that you can try to make it to what eventually became the Nashville QZ, at the time it was just a government support station, because it was closer than the Frankfort one or you can stay here and play survival. Most of the older people decided to try to make it to the QZ, but you and your dad decided to stay. You both felt safer in your own hands rather than someone else’s. After some cars were stocked with people, gas, and food you sent over half of who were left away.

You started playing adult that day. Your father asked for your opinion on every decision setting up this new version of your father-daughter relationship as partners and equals, knowing the two of you were really the only ones you could trust. You’d gone through everything the two of you did that day, why hadn’t you two gotten sick? You figured it out before the authorities did that it was probably flour. The only common thing you and your dad had done was not eat something with flour. Even six years later you think about what might have happened if you had eaten the cookie and gotten sick or if you and your dad had decided to order pizza instead of just eating popcorn and got sick. 

You raided the market for non-perishable goods first, then houses. You stepped over bodies, infected and not. You gathered a hell of a lot of gas and stuff for your farm animals. Living off of your land and what you could find was hard, but after you heard about what was going on in the local QZs you were glad you and your father decided to stay.

You were already pretty outdoorsy, but your father taught you even more. You had your own gun now, you practiced throwing knives in your spare time, and you helped with the butchering now and again. You tried to stay good, it’s what your mom would have wanted, so the occasional straggler was given a meal and a place to sleep for the night before “gently” being told to get on their way. You rarely ran into infected, but when you did, you killed them with ease. Your dad hated when you wouldn’t let him do it. He was still trying to preserve some kind of innocence he thought was left in you.

You can’t lie to yourself, the apocalypse and the world shutting down requiring you to work more combined with the fact you had just gotten older had given you the looks you wished you had at 14. You could tell by the way men looked at you when they stopped by your house, and because you weren’t blind. You were 20 now, your body was now fully developed, your hair was long, you’d gotten slightly taller, and your body was thinner and more toned. 

You and your dad decided to do one of your rare visits to town to find some cars to get gas out of and maybe check in with the people and make sure they’re doing okay. Out of everyone left in Hazel, you were significantly better off than most people because of the farm and just being more able bodied. There weren’t a lot of families in Hazel, most of them were in the next town over, so it was a lot of middle to late aged people just doing what they could and trading with you and your dad for food. You certainly weren’t living luxuriously or comfortably per say, but your worries were certainly less than others.

Your dad headed into one of the antique shops on main street to see if they still had anything of value. You both ignored the fact this was where your mom worked, and that you’d searched this one hundreds of times, rarely finding anything, and you were only here because it made you feel closer to her. Then you saw them, straight in front of you. A group of people you’d never seen before. They’d just walked out of what used to be the local bar and it looks like they found a stash the other people in town had either been saving or hadn’t found yet. The man at the front of the group noticed you first then said something to the others that made them look your way. It immediately made you worry, you’re used to taking one, maybe two people in for a night but not… 8.

“Dad?” You called softly trying not to give off that you were scared but with enough urgency that he came out immediately. He too noticed what you had seen and that they were headed right towards you.

“Fuck,” he said taking his gun out from behind his back and holding it down at his side, as did you.

“Well hellooo there,” the man who was in front said with a bit of a southern accent, “who might we have here to bless us?”

“Mike, how about you?” your father said and you smirked.

“Well I’m Ryan, and we’re just a group of people trying to get by, you think you could help us with that?” You scanned over the group of them, out of the 8 only 2 were female, but they all looked set to kill you and your father at any second. But there were two men in the back, however, who looked uncomfortable. They looked similar enough to be at least related, maybe brothers. One was taller and more well built than the other who was only slightly shorter but skinnier and with more defined muscles but you could tell they could both pick you up one handed and throw you down with ease. The taller one definitely caught your eye the longest, he looked like he’d seen some things.

“That depends, what exactly do you want from us?” Your father did the talking and like always you did the observing.

“Some food to start, our location, and maybe something fun for later,” Ryan said, eyeing you. Bold. Now you had to speak up.

“I don’t know what you had in mind but I can guarantee my idea of fun and yours may not be the same,” you said softly but not unstrong. You can sense that he doesn’t like hearing no so you’ll at least be gentle about it.

“Oh please enlighten me,” he said, taking a step toward you. You took a step toward him.

“I like to throw knives, and I can think of a target I could practice with, if it's not too small,” you say, giving him a sweet smile. The other members of the group giggle and this Ryan guy backs off.

“Aren’t you just a sweet peach,” he said sarcastically.

“Now, we can help with the food and location, but if you’re going to stay here you’re going to follow our rules. Got it?” You said.

“Now what makes you think we’re gonna wanna abide by that?” Ryan says.

“Because you wouldn’t be asking us for help if you didn’t need it, and looks to me like this girl over here is coming down with something so you need medication too. I can also tell that you all are longing for a good night's rest and haven’t eaten well in a few days, so if you want any of that, you're gonna listen to us.” Your observations seemed to sway them because soon enough they were in the bed of your dad’s pickup and you were headed back to your house.

— 

You all exchanged information and food. They snarfed their meals and you couldn’t blame them. You learned most of them were from Texas but a few were from Louisiana and Mississippi. They were traveling north, apparently the QZs in the bigger cities like Boston and Philadelphia were doing better than the Kentucky ones so they were trying to make it there because life in the open was getting harder and harder. You learned that the FEDRA people had finally developed a test for cordyceps that pinched you in the neck and the reader would light up green or red. But the most thought provoking thing you learned was about raiders and FEDRA raids. You and your dad had thought the FEDRA raids were over, but apparently they were still going out on random raids to try to collect people. Not things or supplies, people. And then killing them because dead people can’t get infected. But the sound of raiders just terrified you. You figured the people in front of you were raiders of a sort but they seemed to be on the better end of what’s out there.

“We only kill if they attack us first, raiders kill first,” a woman named Sasha said. You looked at your dad and you could see the thoughts crossing his mind. We won’t be safe from any of that. 

“If you think it would be best, you’re welcome to join us. Your food supplies should get us most of the way there and if we can ride in your truck it would help us get there faster. Try to find better lives for all of us,” another guy whose name you haven’t been told yet said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea Blake, but we’ll have to let them think about it,” Ryan said in response. 

You looked at your dad shrugging your shoulders slightly, “It’s not a bad idea, we’ll eventually run out of things here and one dry season and that's it.” Your dad looks at you slowly and you try to communicate with your eyes what you’re really thinking. It’s an opportunity to get out of here with actual able bodied help to maybe find somewhere easier.

“Okay,” he says to you first, “okay,” he says again directed at Ryan.

You picked up some of the dishes and headed into the kitchen to start washing them. You quickly grabbed the extra soap from the pantry and a common thought of yours crossed your mind, that you didn’t have to open the door anymore. You heard footsteps behind you and who you expected to be your father was actually the two men you had guessed were brothers, carrying the other dishes. 

“Oh, well thanks…” you said, a little surprised.

“Yeah, no problem,” the younger one said with a real southern drawl you hadn’t heard in a long time, “I’m Tommy by the way. And this is my older brother…” 

You’re going through your bag of goodies from your first trip to the mall with Joel. You’ve got your undies and bras from Victoria’s Secret, along with some candles and stuff from Bath and Body Works. 

You would have picked out more, but Joel was throwing a bitch fit about how you were taking too long to pick out body sprays and whatnot.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…just fuckin’ pick one already. They all smell like chemicals and girl. I’m gettin’ a migraine.”

“From all the smells?”

“No. You.” You ignored him and searched for body wash to match your body sprays and lotions. “C’mon. Shake a leg, sweetheart.”

“I need body wash. I can’t find it.”

“Here” Joel grabbed a random ass bottle, shoved it in your bag, wrapped his hand around your forearm and dragged your ass out of Bath and Body Works. “It’s all the same shit anyway.”

Now you’re pulling out that random ass bottle of what Joel had deemed as the same shit as body wash. And it’s not the same shit. At all. 

Relaxing Bath Bubbles

Country Apple 

Awh, shit. Guess you’re about to give Joel another migraine. 

You walk over to his house and knock on his door, your backpack full of your Bath and Body Works goodies. Rubber duckies too. You snagged them from a broken claw machine in the mall. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

“Joel, open up.”

You knock some more. Joel opens the door clad in nothing but plaid boxers, his eyes squinting and his hair wild. “The fuck do you want?”

“Need to use your bathroom,” you say. “Now. It’s an emergency.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Why? You know what, I don’t wanna know. Just make it quick.”

He’s perplexed, but he leads you to his ensuite bathroom anyway. He says Ellie’s bathroom downstairs is heinous. You enter the bathroom and shut the door, and Joel lays on his bed as he scribbles in his book of crossword puzzles.

The first thing you notice about Joel’s bathroom is how nice it is. Spacious, a deep and wide circular inset bathtub. How he scored this, you don’t know. You strip, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor then fill up the tub with hot water. You toss your duckies in the water, dump some Country Apple bubble bath in the tub and watch the bubbles emerge, then light your Bath and Body Works candles and turn out the lights. 

The water is soothing and the bubbles smell nice. You lean back in the tub and relax, watching your little rubber duckies float through the bubbles.

Only when half an hour goes by does Joel realize something’s up. He’s been stuck on his puzzle for the last ten minutes and completely forgot that you’re in the bathroom. He shuts his crossword puzzle book in frustration, sets it on his nightstand and turns out the light in his room. 

The flicker of your candles through the cracks of the bathroom door catches his eye. Confused, he decides to investigate. He’s about to knock on the door when he hears a splash. 

Joel doesn’t have time for this. He barges in to find you soaking in his tub, surrounded by candles and rubber ducks. He looks like he’s gonna have a conniption fit.

“Oh, finally,” you say excitedly. “Been waiting for you.”

Irritated doesn’t even begin to describe the expression on Joel’s face at how shockingly cavalier you are about bathing in his tub. “The fuck are you doing in here?”

“Using your bathroom.” 

“You said it was an emergency.”

“Correct,” you reach for the bottle of apple scented bubble bath and toss it to Joel. “Emergency indeed.”

“We need to go over what constitutes an emergency, then. Because this shit is not an emergency. Not in the slightest.”

“It is, actually,” you counter. “That’s bubble bath. Not body wash. They are not the same.”

 Joel looks at you and he’s not sure which of you has a screw loose, but clearly something’s not right here. You fill one of your rubber duckies with water and squirt him on his tummy “The fuck is the matter with you?” he snaps. Joel snatches the toy from your hand and tosses it behind you, so you fill another ducky with water and squirt him again. “Get your ass out of my tub and go home.” 

“Take it up with Tommy. My tub’s broken. He said he’d fix it but he never did. He said to use yours.”

“Tommy did not say that.” 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

“You know what? M’not doing this. Out. Now,” Joel takes a step forward and reaches his arm through the bathwater to find the drain stopper. You grab hold of his arm, biting your bottom lip as you smile mischievously. Joel glares at you. “Don’t.”

You squeeze his forearm tighter and pull with all of your might. Joel tumbles forward into the bath, water splashes over the edge of the tub and floods the floor below. Joel emerges from the water gasping. “God bless it,”  and pushes his hair out of his face, then wipes his eyes and turns to you. The look on his face pierces daggers right through you. 

In a ballsy move, before he can stand up and step out of the tub, you slide over and sit your ass on his lap. You lean back to force him against the edge of the tub. “That’s better,” you say. “Need you to be my pillow. Your tub’s uncomfortable as fuck.”

“Not gonna be your anything. Get the fuck out of my tub or so help me god I will–”

“Joel, shut up. I’m trying to relax. And you should too, because you’re kind of a crankerpuss.”

Joel scowls. “Do not call me that.” 

“Well, you’re being very hostile right now.”

Oh, he’ll show you hostile alright. You don’t know the first thing about hostility. Joel’s about to pick you up and throw your ass out of the–

Nope. Bad idea. 

It’ll make an even bigger mess on the floor. You’re not worth the water damage. And then you’ll slip and fall, crack your skull open and there’ll be blood everywhere. Hiding the body will be Joel’s next step and he’s not in the mood for that. And of course, inevitably, you’ll knock over one of your candles and set Joel’s bathroom ablaze. 

So Joel shimmies off his boxers and tosses them over the edge of the tub. They land with a wet plop. He leans back with you still on his lap, accepting his fate as your human pillow. 

“Isn’t this nice?” you ask sweetly.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Shut up.”

So you quiet down and settle against Joel’s torso as best you can. Except as the minutes pass, he still won’t relax. He’s stiff as a board. His hands are in fists, resting on either side of his thighs. He’s practicing his deep breaths and going over the serenity prayer in his head. Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“You seem tense,” 

“Mm,” Joel says. “Wonder why. What a mystery this is. I’m stumped, truly.”

“You tend to run hot. You know. Short fuse,” 

“You tend to drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he counters. You scoop up some bubbles in your hand, and Joel grabs your wrist and shoves it back underwater. “Knock it off. S’not playtime.”

You turn so you’re facing Joel and straddled on his thighs. You lift up on your knees, reaching behind Joel to grab a couple of towels. You drive him nuts, but at least he’s getting a nice view of your soapy tits. Pros and cons. 

You fold the towel and set it behind Joel to support and cushion his neck. “Is this nicer?” you ask. 

“It’d be nice if you weren’t here. See enough of ya already.”

“Get used to it,” you reply. “Got a whole lotta mall left to explore.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You don’t bother responding. Instead, you reach for a rag and a bar of soap and begin to lather it. You lift Joel’s arm up and begin scrubbing his skin gently. 

“Quit it,” he snaps, yanking the rag from you. “Washed earlier.”

Your feelings are a little hurt and you frown. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“Don’t need you to be nice to me. Need you to get out of my house. Now finish your bath.”

You grab the bar of soap again, this time without the rag. You lather it between your hands and reach for Joel’s arm once more, this time putting more emphasis on massaging him and less on cleaning.

This, he seems more receptive to. He lets out a little sigh and his head falls back on the towel you folded for him. You massage down his arm, letting your fingers squeeze and work his biceps, then his forearm, the palm of his hand and even his fingers. Your hand accidentally nudges his half hard cock, but he doesn’t startle or move you away. 

You’re thinking about his cock. You haven’t really seen it, hardly felt it. In a seamless transition, your hand leaves Joel’s and you reach between your bodies to play with his member. He grows hard with your touch, you can feel it. In your palm, he’s thick, heavy, and long. You trace your finger over the prominent vein that climbs up his length. 

Joel sighs and reaches for your hand that’s working his shaft. “What are you doin’,” he sighs. 

“Rub-a-dub-dubbing you.”

You think your eyes deceive you as a flicker of a smirk graces Joel’s face. It’s gone in an instant, but you saw it. You’ll have to alert the media. 

“Charming,” he mumbles. 

You continue massaging his member. You’re thankful that the bubble bath led you to this moment here with Joel, but disappointed that the bubbles are hindering your view. You slide your hand up and down, letting your thumb swipe over his swollen tip. 

“Feel good?” 

“S’good, honey. Yeah, so fuckin’ good. Keep it up.”

Joel’s leaning into it now. Melting like a candle. Eyes fluttered shut, lips slightly parted as a symphony of curses and pretty noises escape his mouth.

“Fuck, darlin’. Squeezin’ me s’good.”

 His chest is rising and falling unsteadily. The flickering candlelight bounces off of his skin and gives his face a warm glow. He’s got both hands on the globes of your ass cheeks, sliding over the expanse of skin. Up your waist and down your thighs, loving every inch of your body. 

You lean forward and hold onto his shoulder with your free hand while you stroke him with your other. You dip your head lower to kiss and nip at his jaw and neck. His skin is warm and fragrant like the bubble bath. 

One of Joel’s hands slither between your bodies and he cups your mound. His fingers reach lower to trace lazy circles into your clit. You pump him faster as he plays with you, soft breaths and groans falling from his lips. “Y’got it, sweetheart. Just like that. Just like–ohh, fffuck.”  He squeezes your ass tight as he finds his release, his body tensing and twitching under your touch. He lets out deep and guttural groans, music to your ears. 

He’s coming down from his high, still mindlessly tracing your pussy with his thick fingers. You’re watching as his breathing slows. He’s finally relaxed. And they said it couldn’t be done!

And just then, one of your little rubber duckies floats between you and Joel. The duck wears a mischievous smile. It’s like it’s thinking what you’re thinking. 

Subtly, oh so subtly, you reach for the ducky and squeeze it, then open your fist slightly and let it fill up. Joel’s eyes are still closed and he’s breathing peacefully as you hold the duck level with his face. You squeeze the ducky once more, and a thin stream of water squirts from the duck’s beak and onto Joel’s cheek. Got his ass. 

Joel opens his eyes slowly, his previously soft expression now harsh and irritated. Joel reaches for the duck. “You squirt me with that thing one more time…” he takes it from your hand, “Watch what happens.”

You bite back a smile. 

“Keep it up,” Joel growls. “Now sit back down and spread your legs. Water’s gettin’ cold.”

He’s got a soft spot for you, believe it or not. His brain is telling him to kick your country apple scented ass out the door, but his heart’s telling him to let you stay a while longer. He is a gentleman with principles, after all. A lady should always finish. 

“Wider,” he says. “Open up.”

He uses his strong, masculine hands to grip your thighs and spread them apart, but he doesn’t have to do anything. You oblige to his request immediately. He toys with your clit, circling and swirling his fingers over the sensitive bud before dipping his middle finger inside of you and chuckling. “Hmm,” he hums. “Selective hearing.” “What?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles. “Just think it’s funny how ya only listen t’me when you’ve got my hand or my cock between your thighs.”

You answer him with a soft moan and scoot closer to him, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as he pumps his finger inside you, feeling how warm and wet you are. 

“So this is what it’s gonna take, hmm? To get you to be a good girl for me?”

“More,” you breathe. 

Joel inserts a second finger and you gasp. “Jesus, girl. M’gonna get carpal tunnel tryna get you to behave yourself.”

“Carpal what-el?”

“Don’t worry about it, pretty girl. S’nothin’.”

You whimper as his thumb swipes your clit and his fingers pump inside you. You hold his shoulders for stability as you grind your pelvis against his palm, rocking the water all over the place, over the tub. The waves bounce high and into Joel’s mouth, he’s annoyed as he spits out some bubbles. You may have overfilled the tub. 

“Y’need to sit still,” he says. “Makin’ a goddamn mess.”

“Sorry,” you rasp.

But the splashing continues. Joel gets an idea then. He pulls his hand away from your core. 

“No,” you whine. “Don’t stop, Joel, please–”

“Lookit that, usin’ your manners. Bein’ so nice,” Joel praises you. “You’re fine,” he coos softly. “Not goin’ anywhere. M’right here with you.”

Joel adjusts a few towels on the tile surrounding the tub, making a nice little bed for you. He lays you on the towel, watching as beads of water fall from your body and your legs dangle in the tub. He pulls you close, then licks one long stripe up your pussy.

“Yeah, that, keep doing that,” you beg.

“Not plannin’ on stoppin,” Joel chuckles, his low voice sending vibrations through your sex. “Gonna take my time with your sweet pussy.”

Joel does just that. He licks from bottom to top, top to bottom. He tastes every inch of you, from your slick folds to your clit and back down to your entrance. He flattens his tongue wide against you, lapping at your cunt and savoring the taste of your arousal. He loves the sinful, wet noises your pussy makes. 

You tug on Joel’s wet strands of salt and pepper hair, pulling him as close as you can get him. “I know, gorgeous. I got ya,” he whispers. 

Joel pushes two fingers inside you once more, this time curling them upward to find that sweet spot inside you. You kick your legs, splashing even more water than before. You’ve got an iron grip on his damp curls, twitching and shuddering with every flick of his tongue and sending water flying. 

This whole eating you out to keep you from flooding the bathroom thing didn’t go as planned. But Joel’s a trooper. He’ll soldier on and mop up your mess later. He firmly grips the area behind your knees, lifting your legs from the water and pushing them apart. They sit high at your hips, he has you in a vulnerable position. He devours you and holds you close with a certain tenderness, and you know you’re in good hands. 

“Mmmm,” you moan. “S’good, fuck.”

“Got a dirty mouth, hon. You know that?”

You do know that, but you can’t respond. The only thing you can do is whimper and make those sweet, sweet noises that Joel loves so much. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, sweetheart.” he whispers as you squirm against him. He holds you tighter, keeping you still as he brings you to the edge. His fingers and tongue working relentlessly to make you dizzy.

“Gonna, fuck. M’gonna come, Joel. Please, please–” 

“Come on my tongue,” Joel tells you. “Let go f’me. Give me a good one, sweetheart. Wanna taste it. Wanna taste all of you.”

With his words and ministrations inside you, along with his tongue dancing on your clit, you dissolve under him. Pure pleasure courses through your veins, beginning deep in the pit of your stomach and washing over you, your torso and thighs. Joel’s name is the only word you know at this moment. You sing it like a hymn, worshiping the man who makes you see stars. 

Your head feels fuzzy. You’re hardly aware that Joel’s now kissing his way up your body, over your tummy and your ribcage. He kisses one of your breasts, then the other. He flicks his tongue over one nipple and lightly pinches and twists the other. “Didn’t get to give these tits of yours enough lovin’,” he mumbles. 

It’s touching. He’s such a good lover, but such a forgetful man. Guess what’s sitting right next to you.

Yup. Rubber ducky. 

Joel’s still kissing and massaging your tits, and you quietly reach for the duck. You squirt him right between the eyes. 

Joel snatches the toy from your hand. “Where do you keep finding these fuckin’ ducks?!”

You shrug and giggle, then Joel pulls away from you. He pulls the drain stopper, then dries you and himself off with fresh towels. “Alright,” he says. “You had your bath and then some. Get lost.”

You pout. “You’re not gonna walk me home? It’s late.”

“Nope.” Joel bites his cheek, knowing he’s not actually gonna kick you out to walk home alone. You’re making him soft, and he hates it. “Fine,” he concedes. “Get in bed.”

You giggle and make your way to his bed, watching Joel mop up your mess in the bathroom. He blows out the candles and returns to you. “M’way too fuckin’ nice to ya,” he grumbles. 

“Eh,” you shrug. “Could be nicer.”

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed! Send me asks! Your interaction means the world and keeps me going!

You couldn't speak to Doctor Strange alone. Not as like... as a rule or anything. Your dad loved the man. Best friends since Strange took up residency under him over a decade ago now. But as in physically, you couldn't talk to him like a normal person. You got all tongue-tied and sweaty and had a really, really hard time not falling into the chasm that were those beautiful eyes. He was just… so fucking gorgeous. A head full of dark hair, bright eyes, full lips, broad shoulders, strong-looking arms, towering over you…

You’d had a little school-girl crush on the man ever since you’d moved to New York to live with your dad. You were promptly introduced to Strange at sixteen years old, all awkward and hormonal. And at the time it was mortally embarrassing and you were a little grossed out with yourself— the three years it’d been since then had done little to quell the embarrassment, but you didn’t feel quite so gross. There was no shame in finding a hot man hot.

But even worse than just being hot, he was hot and cocky. With the brains to back it up. And you could swear every time he spoke to you, he just loved watching you get all tongue-tied. He'd quirk a little half smile as you sputtered and struggled to form an articulate sentence, eventually offering a response to his own question on your behalf. Maybe he wouldn't notice you? 

"Y/N?" Came that beautiful deep baritone you heard late at night with you hand between–

Ugh.

You looked up and tried to force a soft smile on your face, though it probably came off more as a grimace. He immediately flashed you that beautiful smile and you were grateful you were sitting, or your knees certainly would have gone weak. He was still in his scrubs. Oh, God. He just looked so dreamy and authoritative and sexy. There was no way scrubs should fit any man that well. It looked like if he flexed too hard the shirt would rip straight off his body.

Oh, that was so going in the spank bank.

"Hello, Doctor Strange." You murmur, toying with the hem of your skirt

"What are you doing here?" He asks curiously

"Oh, well... Dad and I are going to dinner tonight. He was supposed to get off at–"

"Five." Strange finishes for you, "That was before he got in a kid that shoved a dime so far up his nose, they nearly sent him to me instead." Stephen realized very quickly when your face fell, "He didn't tell you?"

You give a weak laugh, "I guess he forgot about me..." You cringe when you realize how sad and desperate the joke sounds, "I just mean– he's forgetful, you know? Not that he… yeah.”

Stephen nods and agrees, "Forgot my birthday ten years running... until last year."

Your face flushed a shade darker as you recalled the dinner your dad had taken Stephen to to celebrate... after you'd reminded him that morning that it was Strange's birthday. You'd been invited. You, your father, Strange, and the woman your father had been talking to at the time— now his girlfriend. His girlfriend that he spent all his time with. She was sweet enough, gorgeous, worked at the hospital with him, but man… she really took a lot of his time.

It was no secret to Stephen that you were lonely. Your parents were separated, your dad up here and your mom in Atlanta. Your friends were... few and far between, your so-called 'boyfriend' was a dick from everything your dad had told him— and Stephen had been told quite a lot. But still better company than none, he supposed. Stephen would offer his own services as company for the night if it weren’t… such an odd thing to do.

If he trusted himself with you.

You were nothing but trouble for the Doctor. Too young, too related to his best friend, too naive. You had the power to singlehandedly disrupt everything that he’d worked so hard for. You, who was just a kid not so long ago. But well… time had certainly won that battle. There was no doubt you had grown into a beautiful young woman. Shy and underconfident perhaps, but very attractive all the same. And yeah, such an observation was left better in his own mind— and it had been. He would never admit to another soul the things he’d started thinking about you in the last year or so. But oh… 

He’d been thinking.

And what he thought about when it came to you wasn’t kosher, to say the least. Most of his thoughts of you came late at night in bed with his hand tugging at his cock, or in the shower the same way. The way you blushed and stuttered and squirmed. And he probably should have felt bad… he knew such a reaction was likely due to discomfort and anxiety, but you just looked so pretty like that. Like you did now.

"In that case..." You sigh, grabbing your purse and pushing up from the chair, "guess I'll be calling a cab."

"Well, um..." Stephen clears his throat, "I could drive you somewhere? Back home? Your boyfriends' house... damn, what's his name?"

A few more minutes with you. A few more minutes to find the perfect instance to play back in his mind over and over when he got home and stepped in the shower.

Your face goes cherry red and you shuffle back and forth on your feet, "David? David and I... well, he broke up with me."

The Doctor snorts, "Why on earth–"

To redirect him from having to answer that question you accept, "But I'd love a ride home."

Stephen nods slowly, looking you up and down and noting your outfit. A short, flowy black skirt that was snug around your waist, a sweater low cut in the top, a pair of black boots, and an oversized denim jacket. Your hair was even done in soft waves, makeup natural but there. You looked so sweet.

How could he possibly let you be alone tonight?

"Sure, yeah, I could do that." He nods slowly, "Or uh, if you wanted... I'm sure you were excited for dinner. I could go home and change, and we could go wherever you had in mind?"

He told himself it was just a favor to your dad. No one wants their little girl alone on a Friday night. Who knows where you'd end up without someone to keep an eye on you? And who better than his best friend? Someone he… trusted… more than anyone.

Fuck. Stephen was a scumbag.

You were speechless.

Dinner? Alone? With Doctor Strange? At his invitation?

Stephen took your silence and wide-eyed stare as discomfort and immediately rushed out, "Only if you'd be comfortable, that is. I didn't mean–"

"Oh, no!" You exclaim, "I would love– like... that would be great... good... fine." You stutter out

Strange quirked a little smile, "We'll aim for great."

And that’s how you ended up sitting across from Doctor Strange at your dad’s favorite steak house in Manhattan, trying to pinch yourself awake from this dream, while also ignoring the fact that it was clearly real judging by the slick between your legs. When Strange said he was going to go in and change, you’d expected some khakis and a polo… not navy slacks and an olive-colored sweater that he just looked divine in. He knew how to dress. You were so used to seeing him in scrubs or jeans and a tee, this was delightful.

And he kept rolling the arms of his sweater up, his forearms bulging, biceps straining against the fabric. He’d fussed with his hair some while he was inside, coming back out and apologizing for it looking a mess. There was a single strand out of place. Right up front that kept falling over his forehead, causing him to continuously reach up and run his hand through his hair.

“So, how’s school going?” Stephen asks after the hostess leaves, noticing the way you nervously pull at the tablecloth

“Oh…” You give a little giggle and glance up at him through your lashes, “You know… I always feel so silly talking about school with people like you— dad too.”

Stephen placed his napkin in his lap and leaning forward a bit prods, “Why’s that, Sweetheart?”

Your brain went haywire. Sweetheart? He’d never called you that before. Never, ever. You surely would have remembered that. Maybe it was just a slip?

“Seriously?” You smile, “You and he are saving lives and finding new ways to do it… I’m just good with pens and pencils.” You consider a moment before admitting, “Not that I don’t think that’s not important. The arts are necessary too, just on a different level. And I’m proud of what I can do, but it feels ridiculous to talk about when— well, like I said, you go to work every day and save people. Makes you feel a bit insignificant, you know?” 

Stephen knew that a lot of that “feeling silly” probably came from your dad. To say he was displeased when you’d decided to pursue art as a career was… putting it mildly. Your dad was a good guy, but he was high-strung. He worried about you, your future, your finances… the sort of thing kids like him and Stephen get brought up worrying about and consequently never stopped worrying about. But it didn’t seem to get through to your dad that he’d done something right for his daughter to be so disconcerted with the same thing. You felt safe and secure because of him. You felt like you could support yourself and do something you loved at the same time. Stephen admired that.

“Well, it’s not.” Stephen reaffirms, “You’re right, it’s plenty important. Have you decided what you want to do with it yet?”

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth and Stephen desperately wanted to reach across the table and pull it out. You reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear, fiddling with your earring. Stephen couldn’t help but note how the soft candlelight at the center of the table made you look so warm. He didn’t stop looking at you, not as you deliberated, not as the waiter came back and served you your water and Stephen his wine, not when he waved the waiter away murmuring that you needed some more time, and not as he continued to watch you deliberate.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Stephen encouraged, “It’s just me, you can tell.”

“You won’t tell dad?”

“I won’t tell your dad.”

“Promise?”

Doctor Strange rolled his eyes but smiled, reached across the table, and offered his pinky, “Pinky promise.”

You smiled shyly and reached over, twisting your pinky around his. Oh. Oh, his hands were big. You withheld a little whimper at the observation. Stephen nearly laughed at the difference between your hand and his own. Weren’t you just adorable? Such a sweet little thing…

You disjoined your pinky from Stephen’s, taking a quick sip of your water before murmuring, “I uh— I’ve been thinking body art.”

Stephen nearly choked on his wine, “Like… as in tattooing?” 

You nodded and shrunk back a bit, though there was a small smile on your lips from his reaction. Your dad would so not be down for this. There were a few things Stephen had learned about your dad over the course of their friendship, and one of those things were his preferences when it came to women. You wanna’ guess what one of his biggest turn-offs was?

That’s right, tattoos. 

Your dad thought they were trashy. Trashy and cheap. Many more derogatory terms had been used before, but Stephen wasn’t exactly in agreement. He didn’t see the big deal. It was just a little ink, and it was their body. What the hell should it matter? But Stephen could draw a pretty strong inference… if your dad didn’t like tattoos on women in general, he certainly wasn’t going to like the idea of you being the one to put them there. Or God forbid, get one yourself.

Stephen dabbed his mouth with his napkin and continued, “Is that it? Just a tattoo artist?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And first of all, it’s not just tattooing anymore. It’s body art, piercing, cosmetic tattooing—“

“Sounds like tattooing…” Stephen teases with a grin

“Yeah, well it is!” You giggle, “But it’s not… it’s a whole different process, okay? And I wanna learn it all.” You pick at your nails, “I just… I know starting off it’s not exactly lucrative, but in the long run, I think it’ll turn out alright. Who knows, I may end up somewhere crazy reputable? Or I could even open my own place. A-and I’d never be bored. And after some time I’ll get to a point where I only have to take the jobs and do the work that I really want to do. Creative freedom, free time, freelancing my other work still.” You shrug and glance back up at him nervously, “It just makes sense.”

Stephen takes a long sip from his glass before trying to gently dissuade, “It sounds perfect for you, it does. But is a tattoo shop going to hire someone who doesn’t have tattoos themselves?” 

Stephen thought he was going to pass out when you gave a little smirk and murmured, “Who says I don’t...”

You let out a laugh at the way Doctor Strange just sat there blinking at you. You smiled when you noticed his cheeks turning red… he never had been a fan of being wrong, but you’d managed to catch him off guard.

“W-well… what… when…” Stephen stuttered out, before succumbing to the inevitable, “where?”

“The first one I got the day I turned eighteen. It starts right about here…” You reach across your body and point at the very upper part of your ribcage, parallel to your chest, “and it wraps under here.” You trace your finger along the underside of your breast, which Stephen watches with great interest before realizing just how great his interest must appear and redirecting his attention to your face as you explain, “Olive branch, fine line, love it to death. The second is another fine line, got that as a present for making it through the first year of college, on my sternum… a sort of north star design I drew up as an accent for a larger work and really loved.” You could see the Doctor’s face growing redder and realized, “Oh, Doctor Strange, I’m sorry… I should have asked— I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!”

Doctor Strange shook his head, “No, no. You’re… it’s fine.” he gives a little laugh, “You’re just normally… much shier than this.”

You feel your own cheeks heat up, “I guess I just get excited talking about it, I never get to, you know? Dad would kill me if he knew…” You flit your eyes back up to Stephen, “And I would like to live a few more years of life.”

“Secret’s safe with me…” Stephen reassures, “Is it just those two?”

You force back a smile at his genuine interest, “One more… just got it a few weeks ago, after the breakup.” You snort, “Maybe not as cheap as a therapy session, but super fun.”

Stephen chuckles, “Alright, where and what?”

“Well, this one was just sort of silly and… and I just thought it’d be funny and cute.” You giggle, “It’s… it’s on my ass.” You watch as Strange forces back a smile, “And it says ‘bite me.’” 

Stephen couldn’t have held back his laugh if his life depended on it. Fucking perfect.

“That… that’s a good one. Sure he’d have loved to see it.” 

Stephen sure would.

You give a little huff and roll your eyes, slinking down in your chair and muttering, “Yeah, that was like… the whole issue.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Oh.”

You looked up to find Strange staring at you seriously. He sits up straighter in his seat and leans forward, studying your face intently. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you didn’t guess he found it, as his brow furrowed, lips turning down in a frown.

“Y/N… he didn’t… hurt you?” Stephen suggests quietly, “And I need you to be honest with me, Sweetheart. Tell me the whole truth.”

You swallow hard and look away, “I mean, he never… he’d stop when I asked him to, he just never asked in the first place.” You shift in your seat, “I just— it’s not like we never did anything— he just wanted to do a lot more and go a lot farther than I was willing to right now, and…” You shrug, your hands coming up to smooth over the tablecloth, “He gave me an ultimatum revolving around it at the start of the month and I refused, so he ditched me.” You give a shaky exhale, “And I know that’s for the best, really, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting any less, you know?”

“Sure, but for what it’s worth…” You startled as the Doctor’s hand came over one of your own fussing with the table cloth, “I’m really proud of you for doing what was best for you.”

You nod, looking down at Strange’s hand over your own. Though over your own implies that you could see your own beneath his, and you couldn’t, but it was there. He was touching you. 

Holy shit he was touching you!

“I-I uh…” You stutter, “Thank you, Doctor Strange. That’s nice to—“ A wave of panic washes over you, eyes going wide as you look up to him, “I uh… my dad doesn’t know that I— well, he knows I have… more so had— a boyfriend, obviously, but he doesn’t know that I…” You trail off

Your face was tilted downward, Stephen suspected to hide your blush though he could see it clear as day. Stephen knew what you were trying to say. Much like the tattoos, your father anticipated nothing but pure innocence from his little girl. The idea that she would engage in any sexual act, even at the age of nineteen, would be completely unacceptable. Though it sounded to Stephen that what you had engaged in was very minimal. He took his hand from yours gently and pulled his chair closer to the table.

“Again, secret’s safe with me, Y/N. You’re a legal adult and nothing you’ve told me you do is illegal or harmful to your health.” Stephen smiled when he saw the tension fall from your shoulders, “But just so we’re clear, if you are having sex or plan to any time soon you should be using protection and—“

“Doctor Strange!” Your eyes blow wide and you whip your head around to see if there’s anyone nearby

Stephen couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction, “Well, Sweetheart, if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“I… can! I just— not with you!” You choke out, bringing your hands to your cheeks which have caught fire

Stephen chuckles and takes another sip from his glass, “Well, as long as you have someone to speak to about the subject.”

“My mom.” You agree, “She’s never been as strict as dad, you know?” Your brow furrows a bit, “I think… I think I’m going to talk to him about moving to Atlanta with mom for a few years.”

“Oh?”

“Well, we both know dad won’t let me start an internship at a tattoo shop while I live with him—“

“Wow, okay. You’re serious about that.”

You give a little huff, “Imagine that. I actually have brain cells and can think for myself.”

Strange gives you a stern look, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry…” You murmur, “Just sounds like him. But yes, I am serious. And it’d be easier to get into the scene in Atlanta or Athens… their state university is in Athens, big crowd. And maybe with mom I can start… actually living. Instead of straight to school and straight home.”

Strange’s brow tensed, “I mean, I knew he was sort of hard on you, but is he that strict?”

“Doctor Strange, it wasn’t far off from the truth when I said he’d kill me if he found out I had tattoos. He wouldn’t actually, of course, but I don’t put it past him to put me on the street. My dad is… my dad has done right by me. He has taken great care of me, provided for me beyond what he had to, given me the opportunity for a great education, I’m not blind to that. He loves me and he is so proud of me…” You hesitate and take in a deep breath before whispering, “As long as I’m doing exactly what he wants and pretending to be this perfect paradigm of a daughter. He is so controlling. I will never get anywhere if I stay here.”

The sentiment struck a little too close to home for Stephen.

“Speaking as his best friend, he’ll miss you if you go.” Stephen offers, “But speaking as one human to another, if you think that’s what’s best for you… it’s what you should do.” He shrugs, “I wouldn’t have gotten far without leaving home.”

“Where is home?” You ask, placing an elbow on the table and propping your chin on your hand

“Home is here now.” Stephen says, “Home was Iowa.”

“Did you… get along with your parents?”

“No.” He says flatly, “Not at all.”

You hesitate before trying, “May I ask why..?”

Stephen takes a deep breath in. How much is appropriate to share and not? How close can he let himself get? How much can he let you in?

“Dad was abusive. Mom was neglectful.” He states simply, “Just… wasn’t a good environment.”

You give a little nod, “I’m sorry— I know you probably hate to hear that, but I am.”

“That’s alright. Turned out okay, didn’t I?”

“Hm… from what I know.” You agree with a little bit of a teasing smile

“And it’s best for both of us if you don’t know the rest.” Stephen smiles back

You laugh and Stephen’s heart skipped a beat. What a pretty sound, what a pretty smile. A real smile, not that timid one you usually gave him. When the waiter came back to take your order, Stephen allowed it. He also noticed the way you kept glimpsing at his glass of wine from time to time. 

He smiled softly and offered, “Would you like a sip?”

“Hm?” You asked, drawing your eyes back to Stephen 

“My wine. You keep looking at it, would you like a sip?”

“Oh…” You laugh, “I’ve just never had it, I don’t drink. I know Dad and Christine like it— white at least.”

“Red is better.” Stephen says, taking the glass and holding it toward you carefully, “You wanna’ try?”

You reach across the table timidly before reminding Stephen, “I’m only nineteen.”

“I know. But a sip won’t hurt.”

You took the glass gently, feeling sparks against your skin as his fingers brushed your own. You brought the glass to your nose and gave it a sniff, tilting your head. You looked around quickly before taking a small sip. Stephen gave a little chuckle at the way your nose scrunched up, the laugh turning into a smirk as your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip.

“I don’t think I get it.” You say passing the glass back to Stephen

Stephen reached out and let his hand linger against your own for a moment too long before informing, “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I think I’d like it better if I couldn’t taste the alcohol.”

He quirks a smile, “Juice… you want to juice.”

You flush at how childish the admission made you seem but murmur, “Maybe…” And changing the subject while the two are still on your mind, “How are they? Dad and Christine, I mean. If you… if you think it’s your place to say. I never really hear about them, Dad and I don’t really talk like that, you know? But I want him to be… happy.”

“You don’t think Christine makes him happy?”

You hesitate before admitting, “No, she’s fine. She’s just a bit… young for him.”

“Ten years isn’t as large a gap at our age as it is at yours.” Stephen defends your father, “More appropriate, at least.” He tacks on to the end as a reminder to himself

And ten years and nearly twenty were two very different things.

“Well, yeah, but I still— I feel like they’re in two different places. Dad has already done his whole stint with the family thing… I don’t think he wants any more kids. And unless Christine isn’t looking for children… and she seems like the kind that would— which I guess is wrong of me to assume, but she gives me that vibe, y’know?” You look back up to Stephen and apologize, “I’m sorry, I know I should just talk to him about it, but he is so awkward with the relationship discussions.”

“Well, does he seem happy to you?”

“He seems the same as he ever has.” You look off into the distance pensively, “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. And maybe I’m just too young and have my own idealized version of what it’s supposed to look like…” You trail off

Stephen leaned forward and asked curiously, “And what is it supposed to look like?”

“I dunno’… not as cold as it seems with them sometimes? They hardly ever touch each other or see each other outside of work. She comes over and then leaves instead of saying the night. And I guess I just expect it to feel… warm and fuzzy. And I know things can’t be perfect all the time, but I feel like they should be closer than they are. It’s been almost two years. Is that naive?”

Stephen considers a moment before answering honestly, “I don’t know. I’m not exactly a great authority for this sort of thing.”

“What? Love?” 

“Yeah, that.” He smiles shyly, You give something like a snort and look away with a roll of your eyes and Stephen scoffs, “What was that?”

“I just don’t believe you—“ You cut yourself off and shake your head, “I don’t know if I believe that someone like you doesn’t know about love.”

“Someone like me?” Stephen smirks and teases, “Now what am I exactly?”

You clear your throat, “Good job, good finances… attractive.” You mutter at the end

“What do you know about my finances?” He asks

“Well, I was just in your car… and Dad says you have a nice place, and you know if he says so it must be nice.”

Stephen chuckles and picks up his glass, a twinkle in his eye as he murmurs, “And you think I’m attractive?”

“I—“ A furious blush covers your face and you stutter out, “I- I mean… well, yes.” You reach up and tuck your hair behind your ear, ducking your head, “I just— anyone with eyes can see that, Doctor Strange. S’only a fact.”

Stephen felt a bit bad about the state he’d put you in with the question and apologized, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you things like that.”

“That’s alright, I shouldn’t have said it in the first place.” You say, face flushing a shade darker, “I was just trying— you must have a girlfriend or two.”

“Girlfriend?” He snorts, “No, not… not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What does that mean?”

Stephen tilts his head at you and gives you a stern sort of stare, “What do you think it means?”

Your brows tense for a moment before your eyes go a bit wide. You duck your head, but not before Stephen sees the small smile on your lips.

“Oh, I see. So the tabloids don’t lie?”

Stephen huffs, “Don’t tell me you read that trash.”

“I may take a glimpse when I’m in line at the grocery store sure.” You shrug, “Great entertainment value. Have there really been that many women?”

Stephen was shocked by your forwardness, a little laugh escaping his lips, “Now, Miss Y/L/N, is that a strictly appropriate conversation for us to have?”

“You were trying to give me the sex talk not an hour ago.”

“That’s different!” He argues, “I just want you to be safe— bad decisions happen when you’re young and having sex!”

“Doctor Strange, I’m not having sex— I’ve barely…” You huff, “Can we not talk about this, please?” You beg, “I really, really don’t need to talk about this with you.”

“Well, you can’t talk about it with your dad.”

“Again, I have a mom.”

“Would you finish school in Georgia?”

“Oh, yeah. I like school.” You agree, “And I can start my internship at the same time.”

“Won’t you miss your friends?”

You give a little shrug, “I don’t exactly have friends to miss. Acquaintances, people I’m friendly with, but no one it’d kill me to leave behind. Again, I don’t really get the opportunity to meet people outside of school, and Dad would flip his lid if he did meet the people I hang out with.”

“What’re they like?”

“They’re… a diverse bunch. Physically, mentally, morally… it just wouldn’t go over well.”

“Hm…” Stephen muses, “Well then maybe it would be for the best you go live with your mom. Maybe you end up loving Atlanta?”

“I think I’d learn to.” You agree, “But I would want to come back. I love New York, I know this is where I want to end up in the long run.”

“Well, wherever you end up, I hope it’s exactly where you want.” Stephen says earnestly, “You’re a good kid and you’ve been given an opportunity to make a great life for yourself. I know you’ll use it well.”

You smile at him softly and nod, “Thank you, Doctor Strange.”

Stephen dropped you off at your place… the place you and your dad lived together. He walked you to the door and had to use all his willpower not to ask if there was something else you wanted to do, somewhere else you wanted to go. He’d have taken you on something like a real date, though neither of you would have ever called it that. But it would have felt that way. He’d enjoyed his dinner with you. He’d gotten you to open up and talk to him about everything; Family, friends, school, morals… life. And you were more than the pleasant that he’d always known. You were kind and genuine and refreshing. 

And afterward, he returned to his own place, the penthouse dark and feeling so devoid of life. And he wondered what it might be like to have someone like you— warm and fuzzy— there to greet him. There to talk about his day and make dinner with. Someone to sit in his lap and hold for just a while; Small, soft, gentle, shy. And you were so beautiful. He’d seen you from every angle tonight, putting his photographic memory to good use. The soft candlelight, the street lamps as you’d both walked through the dim parking lot— you’d walked so close to him, head on a swivel, always looking for danger. He’d wanted to tell you that you were safe with him. You didn’t have to be on guard. He could protect you.

God, he wanted to.

He wanted to protect you and care for you and give you that warm and fuzzy feeling you were so excited to explore. Wanted to show you the life you’d been denied thus far living under your father’s roof.

Stephen stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor outside of the shower. He turned the hand of the shower all the way to the left, letting the water burn his skin, watching as the steam crept up the glass. And he lost himself in a fantasy of the two of you, your inexperience, your innocence, how he would treat you.

How before you left for New York you’d show up at his doorstep, red in the face, embarrassed, but desperate. Desperate for him. And oh, how he’d be just as desperate for you. You’d find yourself in the living room, wrapped in his arms as he tilted your head back, placing rough kisses up and down the column of your throat, already forcing sweet little noises from your mouth. Your hands in his hair as his groped at your hips and ass. A very nice ass from what he’d caught glimpses of tonight.

“Doctor… please.” You’d beg, even if you weren’t sure what for

“What do you want, Baby?” He’d whisper

“Will you teach me… will you show me how to make you feel good?” You’d whisper shyly, face flushing that pretty shade of pink

He’d trail your hands slowly down his body, bringing them to a stop at his zipper, “Take these off first.” He’d instruct

And you would eagerly, unbuttoning his pants and unzipping them quickly, staring up at him the whole time; Your sweet gaze completely enrapt, focused entirely on him. Maybe you’d surprise him a bit, sinking to your knees as you stripped the denim from his legs. You’d look up at him at a loss for what he wanted next and he’d show you, taking your hand and running it across his erection. You’d flush and look away, a bit ashamed of the act.

“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s okay. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” He’d reassure, cupping your cheek gently, pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb, “Take those off for me.”

You’d nod and bring your little hands up to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly. When they were in a pool on the floor he’d watch as your eyes went wide, lips parting slightly.

“You’re… so big.” You’d whisper, “I don’t know… what if I can’t—“

“You can, Baby.” Stephen would encourage, “You’re going to make me feel so good. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You would nod eagerly, swallowing hard and staring up at him all wide-eyed and innocent, “You’ve never done this before?” You’d shake your head no, “What a sweet little girl you are. Been saving it for someone special? Who did you want to use this pretty little mouth for the first time?”

Stephen sighed and leaned back against the shower wall, reaching to the side and getting a small pump of body wash. He brought his hand to his half-hard cock and started massaging it slowly, throwing his head back. Him. You were saving it for him…

“You, Doctor Strange.” You’d whisper, “I want you.”

Stephen would smile at you and run a hand over the top of your head, “That’s such a good girl. You wanna be my good girl?”

Stephen shocked himself when your answer was, “Yes, Daddy.” The name caused him to groan aloud, the sound echoing off the walls

It shouldn’t have shocked him like it did. Like he said, he wanted to protect you, care for you, have you... so innocent and sweet and willing for him.

Stephen smiled down at you softly, “Go ahead and open your mouth for me.” You open your mouth and Stephen chuckles, “Wider than that, Baby Girl… and stick out your tongue.” 

You give a shy little giggle and open your mouth wider, sticking out your tongue and staring up at him wide-eyed. Stephen grabbed the base of his cock like he would in his fantasy. The way he would shift his hips forward, relishing in the way the warm saliva would feel against his head. 

“Suck on it soft. Like you would a lollipop.” He’d instruct, “Be careful with your teeth.” You’d close your lips around him slowly, suckling gently at first and he’d praise, “Good Girl. Use your tongue too.”

Stephen ran his hand over his soaped-up shaft and toyed with his head gently, emulating what it might feel like. But he knew it would feel much, much better if it were you. The way your tongue would swirl around his head, the way your lips would start to glisten with your own saliva, pretty eyes staring up at him the whole time.

“That’s it, that’s my Good Girl.” He’d coo, “Now stop for a second and let me have your hand.” You’d hold it up to him and Stephen would demand, “Spit in it.” You’d do that too— shyly, embarrassed by such and improper act— and Stephen would wrap your hand around his base, keeping his own on top of yours for the time being, “You’re gonna stroke me up and down…” He’d say starting to guide your hand across his length, “Use a little more pressure than that… there you go, that’s a Good Girl. Now put it back in your mouth, suck it like a lollipop again.” You’d lean forward and take his tip in your mouth once more, your eyes fluttering closed as you tasted the precum beading on his tip, “You’re gonna stroke Daddy’s cock and suck on his head, just like that. You can do that for me, yeah?”

You’d nod and take his head out of your mouth to reply, “Yes, Doctor.” Before resuming your work

Stephen started stroking himself slowly but firmly, moaning aloud. He liked building himself up, liked the drama and tension of it all. He’d hold the back of your head, his fingers buried in your head pulling gently. 

“Now lick the whole thing, make it messy and wet. Doesn’t have to be pretty, Baby Girl.”

You’d let him go with a little pop and lean forward, stilling your hand and running your tongue flat and soft up the entirety of his length, working all around him. You’d be smart enough to return to his head from time to time, suckling gently before returning to your lapping.

“Very good. Now try to take it in your mouth, just a little. Keep using your tongue and use your hand for what you can’t take.”

You’d nod and take a deep breath, opening wide and taking him only a quarter of the way. He’d just be too big, you’d be too intimidated. That sweet little mouth only capable of so much for the time being. But that’d be alright, he’d be patient with you— gentle— like you deserved. You’d start bobbing your head slowly, little by little learning how to take more and more. Your hand still stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, eyes still transfixed on his face. Your other hand would be on his hip, fingers digging into the skin gently, trying to ground yourself.

You’d get braver little by little and when he saw you were comfortable he would ask, “Can I take control?”

You’d pull away from him and ask hesitantly, “W-what are you doing to do?” 

“I’m going to use this pretty little mouth…” He’d trace your bottom lip with his thumb, now wet with your spit, “All I need you to do is keep your mouth open for me. You seem to do that well enough.”

You would blush but agree, “Yes, sir.”

“I won’t hurt you. And it’s okay if you can’t take it all. We’ll try again some other time. But you’ll do your best for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He’d pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail and bring his hips forward once more, “Move your hand, Sweetheart. Let me do the work.”

He’d start gently for you— for both of you, pacing himself— guiding your head up and down his shaft, only ever taking you halfway. And when he got impatient he’d still your head and start thrusting his hips, forcing himself farther in your warm little mouth. You’d get all teary-eyed and look up at him so wanton and lost, squirming on your knees, growing more and more desperate for him.

“That’s it, Baby Girl. Doin’ so good… so good for Daddy…” You’d moan around his length, causing him to groan and pull you off for a moment to catch your breath, “Take a deep breath. I’m gonna’ try to go farther this time.”

And when he did you’d immediately start gagging around him, panicking and pulling away embarrassed, confessing, “I- I can’t it’s too much.”

“You can, Baby.” He’d insist, “It’s okay if you can’t take it all, remember? I just like seeing my cock in that pretty little mouth. Those lips feel so nice.” He’d pull you back to his cock with a little more force, “Open up.” You would and he’d compliment, “Good Girl. Just like that. You just keep that pretty little mouth open and let me fuck your face.” You’d give a little whimper, brows tensing and gagging once more as he touched the back of your throat, “There you go, it’s okay if you choke. You look so pretty gagging on Daddy’s cock. Can’t wait to have you screaming for me—“

Stephen came with a groan. His cum spurt out in thick ropes, painting the shower floor and being quickly washed away. He was panting, his skin sticking to the wall behind him, covered in a layer of clean sweat. He continued stroking himself slowly, working off his high, a sigh falling from his lips as he blinked his eyes open. 

It really would be for the best if you took some time away from New York.

You collapsed in your bed and stared up at the ceiling, finding yourself incapable of wiping the stupid grin off your face that had been present nearly all night. God, he was just so dreamy. And sweet and real. You’d heard from more than a few people that Doctor Strange was a bit of an egomaniac, but you were having serious trouble seeing that. Was he cocky? Absolutely. But egomaniac? Far from it.

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he were. He was a god among men.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad.

You groaned and rolled over, burying your face in the pillows and beating your fists against them. What the hell was wrong with you? He was nearly two decades older than you and your dads’ best friend. You were just some kid. Someone he was obligated to look out for.

But that wouldn’t normally include taking someone to dinner, would it?

“Y/N, Hon?” You heard your dad call, “You here?”

You lift your head and called back, “In my room, Dad!” Before face-planting into the pillows once more

There was a pause and the sound of his heavy tread before a gentle knock on your door, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He pushed open the door and walked into your room, immediately starting, “I am so sorry about dinner tonight, Hon. I just got swamped at work— I kept meaning to call…” He trails off and notes your clothes, “You haven’t been waiting up for me?”

“No.” You disagree, “Only sat in the lobby for twenty minutes before Doctor Strange came down and saw me. He told me what was going on.” You hesitate before adding, “He got me dinner and drove me back here.”

You Dad smiles softly, “Nice of him. He’s a good kid.”

And there lies the problem. Strange was in his early thirties and still a kid in your father’s eyes. You were a baby.

“Yeah, I told him thank you, but you should text him and thank him too. He didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“I will.” Your Dad agrees, “And you can come out to dinner with Christine and I tomorrow to make up for what I missed tonight. She’s been asking to see you.”

You give a soft smile, not really wanting to third wheel but appreciating both of their efforts, “Okay.”

“Well… get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Hon.”

You watched as he closed the door softly, listening carefully until his door shut down the hall. You felt bad— felt awful about the idea of leaving him. He was a good dad. But he was also infuriating. It was nine on a Friday night and you were laying in bed alone, not a friend to call or text, nowhere to go, nothing to do. Your curfew was in an hour anyways, so what would you really do? Nineteen with a curfew of ten o’ clock. There were high schoolers allowed to be out later. 

You reached for your phone on your night stand and clicked the first contact in your recent call list, listening as it rang twice before the phone was answered, “Hey Baby!”

You smiled softly to yourself, “Hey Mom. Can I— I want to run an idea by you.”

“Well— why not?” He’d pouted at you as you ducked down into your car

You detested portal travel, even though it’d save you a fortune on gas. It ‘made you feel queasy.’

“I have a date.” You said

“A date!”

“Yes, Stephen.” You sigh, “Though it may be shocking to you, someone else also would like my time.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I just— you’ve never gone on a date before.”

“I have been on many dates. I just don’t tell you about them.” You object

“Since when?”

“Since I was like fifteen! I have to go, you’re going to make me late for this meeting.”

“Okay, okay. Well… have fun. Be safe.”

You snort, “Thanks, Dad.”

Ouch.

He wasn’t being a dad. He was being a good friend, that was all. Was he totally bummed you were going on a date? Maybe. Was it for any reason other than the fact he got left alone? No… no! Definitely not. He wasn’t bitter or jealous at all. That would be ridiculous. Because you were his best friend. Friends didn’t get jealous when other friends went on dates. They just asked for their location and what time they’d be back home. Asked them to let them know they got home safe.

Unless, of course, they didn’t get home. They got to someone else’s home.

Stephen groaned and chucked his book against the opposite end of the couch.

Why did he have to feel this way for you?

Actually, he knew exactly why he did. You were beautiful, to start with. You were genuinely intelligent, emotionally in tune, selfless, full of life, and capable of putting up with his weird-ass life… that was just to start. He’d met you by chance, as fate would have it, when he was dealing with a minor threat downtown. Just your everyday demonic entity. You’d been trapped in the corner behind an overturned table, looking terrified as anyone would.

“Ma’am, I’m ganna have to ask you to leave.”

You scoffed, “Sir, if I could, I would. Table has kinda crushed my leg here— look out!”

Stephen spun just in time to see a beam of black magic hurtling straight for his chest. He conjured a shield over you with one hand and shot his own blast of eldritch magic back at the entity.

“Alright, just stay down!”

“Once again— not much of a choice!”

God, you were such a brat.

He was head over heels from the start.

After he’d sent the enemy through a portal to a nice, quiet corner of the universe to terrorize, he walked back over to you. He lifted the table off your leg and picked you up carefully, opening a portal into the hospital.

“Christine!”

The redhead immediately turned her head toward the two of you and sighed, “Can you please just use the door like everyone— oh my God! Y/N?” Christine dropped everything and ran over to the two of you

“Um— you two know each other?” Stephen asks

“I’m her anesthesiologist so I hope so.” You grouched up at him, “It was my day off, I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“I mean… I can go put you back in the coffee shop.” Stephen huffed

“Oh boy…” Christine whistles, “Never thought I’d have to see you two go head-to-head. I was hoping…”

“What’s that supposed to mean!” You and Stephen both exclaimed

“Just… let’s get her into radiology. Okay?” Christine redirected

And that was the start. He couldn’t say exactly why he’d been so concerned about you… something just drew him to you. You’d jumped out of your skin one day when you’d finally gotten off of bed rest and were returning home only to find the sorcerer standing on your doorstep.

“Uh... hi?”

“Your leg is better.” Stephen said simply, acting like the situation was completely normal

“Yes. A call or text would have sufficed just as well— how did you even get my address?”

“Small detail.”

“Sort of stalker-ish.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Do you normally check on the collateral from your little wizard battles?”

“Yes.” He lied

You observed him for a moment and asked, “You want dinner?”

He blinked at you a few times before asking, “What?”

“Do you want dinner?” You repeated, “I’m making pasta. You want some or not?”

“You’re making me pasta?”

You pushed past him to your door, “I was making me pasta, I’m offering to double the recipe.”

“I couldn’t— well, I wasn’t expecting you to…” He shuffled on his feet

“Well, you’re here and you potentially saved my life. I owe you one.” You pushed open the door to your apartment and looked back at him, “And then we’ll have time to exchange numbers so you don’t have to stalk outside my door.”

“Exchange… yeah! Yes, sounds great. Don’t have anything else going on at the moment.”

Wong was three blocks down fighting a minor god.

“Great…” You agreed, gesturing him in, “Come on. I’m starving.”

That was where it started. And then you two were hanging out all the time like… normal people. He wasn’t supposed to be normal people anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be going on coffee runs or joining you for lunch breaks. But he loved it. You were a small glimmer of normalacy in his otherwise completely fucked up life. He was thankful for you beyond words.

You burst through the Sanctums doors and gave a look around. You waited exactly three seconds before Wong came walking out to the landing at the top of the steps. 

He observed you for a moment and noticed, “Y/N. You look nice. Did he finally ask you?”

You knit your brows together, “What?”

Wong raised his eyebrows and rolled his lips together for a moment before replying, “Nevermind. You’re looking for Strange?”

“Yep.” You agree, popping the ‘p’

“Library.” He said simply before turning on his heel and walking away

You turned and walked down the long hallway. Your heels clicking rhythmically against the polished wood floors. You paused for a second in front of the library door and readjusted your dress. You caught yourself in the act and huffed. What should you care if he thought you looked nice? He’d never looked twice at you like that in the two years you’d known each other now. You pushed open the door and strutted inside, your feet killing in the stilettos you wore. Waste of a perfectly good outfit…

You paused when Stephen sat up on the couch to see who had intruded on his private time. He just stared at you for a minute. His jaw went a bit slack, his eyes going wide. You took a few more steps forward and gave an awkward little wave.

“Hi… does your offer of hanging out here still stand?”

Stephen swallowed hard and stuttered out, “God— you look great.” He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, “You— your date?”

You shifted back and forth on your feet and looked to the floor mumbling, “Stood me up…”

Stephen slid off the couch and walked over to you, his brow tense, “He didn’t show?”

“That’s what ’stood me up’ means, yes.” You huff

“His loss.” Stephen held out his hand and you took it carefully, letting him spin you around, “I’ve never seen you— you look beautiful, Honey.”

You ignored the chill that ran up your spine whenever he used the pet name on you and tried to fight your blush as you replied, “Thank you, Stephen. Very sweet.”

“I mean it. Bastard doesn’t even know what he was missing.”

“Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“No, no! Really. I just— wow.”

You giggle, “Were you always this articulate? Weren’t you New York’s most eligible play-boy bachelor at one point?”

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, “Been a long time since then… guess I’m pretty out of practice.”

“Mm… holing up at Hogwarts will do that to you.”

“Cut it out.” He huffs, though never truly angry about your poking fun at his ‘being a wizard.’ He dropped your hand, much to your dismay and asked, “You alright?”

“Disappointed is all.” You shrug, “And these heels fucking kill.” You groan

Stephen gives you a soft smile, “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten?”

“No.”

He thought for a moment and offered, “I can still cook. And I can grab you some sweats and a tee? We can just sit around and do nothing?”

“That sounds perfect.” You agree

“Good.” He nods toward the door, “Follow me.”

Stephen led you up the Sanctum’s steps in the foyer. He thought he saw you blush when he offered his arm to help you scale them safely in your heels. God… your legs in those heels. He pushed open his bedroom door and strutted in, leaving you at the door to make your own decision as to whether or not you wanted to enter. He just figured having you there would make it easier to decide what you wanted to wear. He watched out of the corner of his eye as he started digging through his drawers. You stepped into the room timidly, observing your surroundings.

“Tee?”

“Hoodie.” You say decidedly

He cracks a smile to himself and turned to walk into the closet. His heart nearly stopped in his chest when he walked back out to find you sprawled in his bed, your hair cascading over the pillows, your dress riding up ever so slightly to expose your thighs. He swallowed hard and turned away from the image— one he had imagined many times before on his own accord. So close, yet so far.

“So, uh—“ He cleared his throat, “Was this guy supposed to be a promising prospect or was it a shot in the dark?”

“He seemed promising enough.” You sigh, “But I did meet him on Tinder. That probably should have been the first warning sign.”

“What would have been the second?”

“He was sort of… suggestive in his messages.” You put delicately 

“Suggestive?”

“As to where he wanted the night to go.” You elaborate, “And I guess I was kind of… less than enthusiastic in response. Not mean or anything like that, just evasive. Guess he picked up on that?”

Stephen chuckled, “You’re saying you think he skipped out because he knew he wouldn’t get you in his bed the first night?”

“That would be my guess, yeah.” You agreed, sitting up as Stephen walked the hoodie and sweats over to you

Stephen ’tsks’ and says, “He should’ve known it’d take at least three. You always wait until date three to breech the subject.”

Your brows knit together, “Is that really the rule?”

“I don’t know if it’s a rule, but it’s usually a safe bet. The third date you know whether or not you plan on seeing them again for something more than that.” Stephen shrugs, “If you weren’t both certain you just wanted a lay, at least.”

“Huh.”

“Never had a guy wait until the third date to bring it up?”

“Well now that you mention it…” You muse

“Uh-huh.” He says smugly

You kick off your heels and sit criss-cross in his bed, playing with the strings of his sweatshirt and ask softly, “And… sex. That’s like… a huge part of it, right?”

“Come again?”

“That’s one of the perks of dating? The sex without the definitive attachment?”

“Is it not for you?”

You blink up at him and give him a confused look, “Have we never discussed the fact that I’m a virgin?”

Stephen choked on the air, “You’re what?”

You scoff, “Well if you’re gonna be a dick about it!”

“I’m not— I’m sorry! I just… no! We haven’t discussed that. Why would we discuss that?” He gestured between the two of you

You shrug, “I figured it must have come up at some point. We’ve known each other for a while.”

Two years, three months, and eighteen days.

“Well… no. I didn’t know that.” Stephen says

“Well, now you do.” You place the clothes to the side and flop back down against the bed and Stephen tries to ignore the movement in your chest area, “Is that why they don’t stick around? If it’s not that, there has to be something wrong with me—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Stephen cuts you off, sitting carefully beside you on the bed, “There is nothing wrong with you. And if it is about the sex for these guys, you just haven’t found the right guy. The right guy would wait until you’re comfortable.” He thinks for a moment and asks, “You’ve never done any of it?”

“None of it…”

“Can I ask why you’re still a virgin? Given it’s clearly not from lack of offers…”

“No, because it sounds childish.” You grouch

“I’m not going to think it’s childish.” 

There’s a moment of silence before you admit, “I just… want it to be right. It doesn’t have to be the person I end up with… realistically I know that’s not the case. I just want it to be someone who cares about me. Not just my body. I don’t want to be just another lay for someone, and I don’t want to not remember his name in a year.” You glance up at Stephen, “Is that stupid?”

“No, Honey.” He shakes his head, “It’s not stupid. There’s no right or wrong when it comes to this sort of thing. You go with your gut. And I think you’re right that it should be someone who cares about you— especially if you’re nervous.”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“A guess.”

“I don’t like it when you guess things correctly.” You huff, wrapping your arms around yourself

He chuckles, “Sorry.”

“What was your first time like?”

He gives a snort, “I lasted about a minute and a half and couldn’t make her cum.” You throw your hand over your mouth and giggle and Stephen fake pouts, “Be nice! I’ve come a long way since then!”

You reach over and pat his hand condescendingly, “I’m sure you have, Steph.”

“Ask Christine.”

You gag, “Please do not. No one else wants to think about that except for you.”

“Um… ouch?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He smiles down at you, “It’s alright.”

“I’m honestly at the point where I just want to get it over with. I’m tired of stressing about it every time I meet a new guy. You know how awkward it is to tell people you’re still a virgin at my age?”

“Literally, no.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well…” Stephen’s heart ached as he offered the solution, “You have more than a few male friends…”

“Ugh, Stephen.”

“I’m just saying! You want to get it over with. You want someone who cares about you, someone who knows the situation—“

You bolt straight up in the bed, “You.”

Stephen blinked at you dumbly, “Sorry?”

“You. You’re a male that happens to be my friend, knows about the situation, and cares about me…”

“That wasn’t what I was implying.”

You shrink back a little, “Right, yeah…” You fidget with the hem of your dress, “I wasn’t implying— I didn’t mean to make it seem I thought you saw me like that—“

“Well it’s not that I don’t—“ Stephen stuttered, “You— you’re very attractive. That isn’t…” He trailed off and thought before saying, “I just wouldn’t want things to be… awkward after the fact. Because I do care about you… a lot. I don’t think I could stand to lose you as a friend.” Stephen cringed, “Not that I wouldn’t want— I’m going to stop talking now.” Stephen decided before he said something doubly stupid

You squeezed his hand softly and he looked up to find you blushing as you whispered, “I’d rather it be you than any of them… if you were really willing, that is.”

If he were willing.

He scoffed mentally. Like he wasn’t half-hard from you laying in his bed alone.

“I am… more than willing.” He heard himself say

“Would you maybe… dinner could wait?” You suggested shyly, flushing a shade darker

Stephen lifted his hand and made a motion toward the door which caused it to slam shut.

“Dinner could wait.”

Your stomach filled with butterflies as you stepped out of the shower. Stephen had offered it to you beforehand so you could take some time to think, make sure it was what you really wanted. That alone led you to believe he was a perfect choice. You couldn’t believe it was even a choice to begin with. You’d spent more than a few nights with your hands between your legs thinking of this exact scenario. You pulled on a pair of his boxers and the hoodie he’d offered you, deciding you still needed to work up the courage to be naked in front of him. 

You stepped back out into his room, closing the door behind you softly. Your breath caught int your throat when you turned around and saw the fire lit in the fireplace, a dozen candles lit on his nightstands on either side of the bed. Stephen looked fresh out of the shower himself— you couldn’t say what shower since it hadn’t been his own— but the way his hair was falling over his forehead was evidence enough. You always liked his hair undone like that. He looked so cute.

Stephen looked around the room and asked sheepishly, “Too much?”

You smile at him softly, “Not at all.”

He slides into the bed and holds his arms out in offering. This was familiar enough. You’d cuddled more than a few times— the first couple on accident as you’d fallen asleep on the couch in the library and just so happened to wake up wrapped in each other. It was one of the reasons you adored hanging out in the library with him. He always let you read curled up in his arms or with your head resting in his lap. He was sweet like that.

You crawled into the bed and lay next to him. Stephen carefully put his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. You buried your face in his chest and inhaled deeply. He smelled herbal… like his favorite teas. You brought one hand to his head and gently scratched at his scalp. You felt his body go lax, heard him give a small sigh of contentment.

“You thought about it?”

“Yes…” You say,  “I’d still like to if you would.”

“Are you sure?” He asks softly

“Yes, Stephen.” You pull back to look into his eyes, “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He nods and you see him swallow hard, “If you want to stop at any point… or if you need to slow down, let me know, yeah?” You nod and he continues, “You know penetration will be a bit uncomfortable for a minute?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Stephen reached up and brushed the damp hair out of your face with a shaky hand… more shaky than normal, that is. He cradled your face in his hand and rested his forehead against your own, looking into your eyes, searching for a sign. You gave it to him by tilting your face upward and pressing your lips to his. Electricity shot through your body from your head to your toes. His arm around your back pulled you closer, pressing his body to your own insistently. He was so… firm. Strong. All hard muscle from years spent training and chasing after God knows what. Stephen could feel the softness of your body against this own, curves and soft slopes absent from his own. Your fingers pulled gently at his hair and he gave a soft groan. You felt yourself throb hearing that sound.

You whimpered and pawed at the collar of his shirt before grabbing it and pulling him impossibly closer. He nipped gently at your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to him, letting his tongue explore your own. You may have lacked experience beyond this, but all that time spent kissing and doing little more had paid off. Your mouth was magic. He’d barely been kissing you for a minute and he was already addicted. He could only imagine what magic you’d be capable of down below. You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, your heart thundering against your ribcage. Stephen ran his thumb over your cheek gently and gave a soft sigh.

“You’re really good at that.”

You giggle and bury your face in the crook of his neck, placing a gentle kiss against the skin, “Well I’m not totally clueless about all of it.”

“Obviously…” He groaned as you bit gently at the skin on his neck

You trailed open-mouth kisses up his neck and across his jaw, nibbling gently on his earlobe, “Not bad yourself.”

“Honey, I’m just getting started.”

Stephen rolled over on top of you and crushed his lips against your own. You whimpered as he immediately found the most sensitive spot on your neck and bit into it, sucking on the spot softly. You thread your fingers through his hair, your back arching off the mattress as his hands explored the curve of your waist. You gasped when one of his hands traveled upward and palmed your breast. 

He separated his mouth from your neck long enough to check, “Okay?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, pulling him back down

He chuckled lowly in your ear sending a shiver down your spine, “Someone is eager.”

You whimpered as he brought his free hand up to your other breast. His lips met yours again and you placed your hands on top of his to ensure he kept groping at you. Still, he broke free from your grasp and brought one of his hands to your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His other hand reached down and snaked beneath the sweatshirt, skin against skin. He rolled your nipple between his fingers and you whined into his mouth. He groaned back to you when your hips bucked upward. He trailed his mouth back down your neck before reaching for the hem of your shirt.

“May I?”

“Please.”

Stephen ripped his sweatshirt off of you and marveled at your tits. Just as beautiful as he’d dreamt. He smiled as your nipples pebbled against the cold air and settled himself between your legs so he would feel the pressure against his cock when you started writhing beneath him. He leaned down and watched your face as he took one of the buds between his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed and your head fell back as you let out a moan. Your hips jumped beneath him and you gasped feeling his erection press against your heat. His goatee tickled the sensitive skin, only adding to the stimulation. You smiled, letting yourself get lost in the first of many new experiences to come.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Honey?”

“Mhm…” You hummed out, which was about as coherent as you thought yourself capable of when he trailed kisses across your sternum and promptly started swirling his tongue over your other nipple, “So… so good.”

Your hands found their way back into his hair where you pulled roughly. Stephen groaned and ground his hips against you. You whined and started grinding against him too. He liked the desperation of the act. Both of you dry-humping each other like two over-excited teenagers. Stephen licked each of your nipples again before trailing wet, opened-mouth kisses up your body until he was right in your ear.

“So pretty, Baby.” He whispered, “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding these gorgeous tits from me for so long.”

“Stephen…” You whined

“Awe, what is it, Honey?”

“Need more.”

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, grabbing the fat of your hip and helping you continue to grind yourself against his length, “Say the words and I’ll do it.” He watched as you flushed, turning your head from him. He wasn’t used to you being shy and it made his heart give an odd little flutter. He reached down and rest his hand against your clothed core asking, “You need me to touch you here?” You nodded and he couldn’t help but tease, “Look at you all shy all of the sudden.”

You pouted up at him, “It’s weird to ask!”

“No it isn’t.” He argued leaning down and placing a kiss against your lips, “It’s okay to ask. It’s okay to tell someone what feels good and what doesn’t. I need you to do that for me so I can make you feel good. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Stephen sat back on his legs between yours and slipped his fingers through the waistband of the boxers on your hips. He pulled them off slowly and tutted when you closed your legs. He ran his hand up your shin gently, up to your knee and thigh. He slipped his fingers between your thighs and pulled softly, enjoying the way the soft skin molded to his touch.

“You wanna open up for me, Baby? Or do we need to slow down?” You paused for a second before slowly opening your legs for him a bit and he praised, “Good girl. Thank you.”

He trailed his fingers to your core and cupped it gently, slowly running his middle finger through your slit. You whimpered and your legs squeezed shut again. He smiled and leaned over you, brushing his lips against yours softly. You bit into your lower lip, your brow tensing as you looked up at him. He could tell you were trying to choke back the sounds of your pleasure. But he wanted to hear it… needed to, to make sure you were okay.

“You are allowed to make noise.” He whispers against your lips, “They like to hear it.”

“They?”

“Men.”

You shake your head, “Is it what you like?”

“Yes.” Stephen reassures, “Very much.”

“Okay.” You shift a little, “It’s not… weird?”

“Hearing you moan because I’m making you feel good?” He chuckles, “No, Honey. Why do you think they moan like that in porn?”

“I… don’t really watch porn.” You say with a shy smile

“Then how do you...” He raises a brow at you

“Reading… imagining?” You shrug, “Do you normally watch it?”

“I’ve always been a visual learner.”

You giggle up at him, “That right?”

“Mhm. But there’s no experience like hands-on experience.”

You give a real laugh and Stephen grins down at you. He always smiled like that when you laughed. You loved his smile. The crow’s feet around his eyes, the smile lines that blossomed on his face. He was just so pretty when he smiled like that. Stephen started moving his hand between your legs more insistently and you gave a surprised gasp, the action drawing you back to your physical form. Your hand pulled roughly at the hair on the nape of his neck and Stephen kissed you once more. He could feel the slick between your thighs…. not enough. You were still too nervous to lose yourself to the arousal the way he needed you to.

“Can I go down on you?” He asked

You blushed, “L-like… now?”

He bit his bottom lip to stifle a laugh, “If you’d like that, yeah. It’ll help you relax.”

“I— well… what if it’s—“ You wrinkle your nose, “Isn’t it gross?”

Stephen snorted, “Okay… lesson number one. Any man who thinks eating you out is ‘gross’ isn’t worth your time.” He smiles and admits, “Besides, it’s one of my favorite things to do.”

You nod, “What do you need me to do?”

“Just lay back and enjoy it. Tell me what feels good.” He says running his thumb over your cheek, “That’s all.”

Stephen pulled you up to the head of the bed, making sure the pillows were arranged comfortably for you. He placed a kiss on your forehead and scooted back down to the foot of the bed. He pulled your legs apart using more force than before and lay on his stomach. He looked up to find you staring at the ceiling, your face and chest bright red. He thought your nervousness was adorable. He started by pressing his thumb through your folds and exploring until he found that spot that made your hips buck off the mattress. He rubbed delicate circles over the spot and heard you give a little sigh. He leaned down and carefully stuck his tongue out, dragging it through your folds. You gasped and gripped at the comforter, your chest rising and falling unevenly. He did it again with a bit more force and you let out a soft moan. He hummed happily at the sound, continuing to work over your clit.

You squeezed your eyes shut and felt yourself convulse as he started working at you consistently with his tongue. It was so… different. You’d always wondered how good oral would feel, but you couldn’t have imagined how good it felt in practice. You tugged at the comforter trying to keep yourself against the bed, trying not to start moving your hips and grinding against his face. You let out a breathy moan as you felt his tongue breach your hole. He thrust in and out a few times, giving his own groan. The noise sent a shockwave through your body and your hand found its way into his hair of its own accord. You realized how roughly you must have pulled and went to retract your hand, embarrassed, and afraid you might hurt him. 

He took his hand from your clit and put your hand back in his hair, his eyes boring into your own as he reassures, “I don’t mind. I like that too.” You nodded and thread your fingers back through his hair, giving a gentle tug and he smiled, “That’s a Good Girl.”

You whimpered, “It feels really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a smile, placing a kiss against your clit, “I’m gonna add my fingers, start stretching you out. Tell me if it hurts.”

You nod and Stephen leans back down, taking your clit between his lips. You turn your face and bury it into the pillow, whimpering. He swirled his tongue around the bud, and your hand pulled at his hair again. He brought one finger to your entrance and pushed in carefully. There was little resistance now that he had you a bit more relaxed. He pulled out and pushed back in a few more times before adding a second finger slowly. You gave a little whimper and he pulled away from your cunt to watch your face.

“Okay, Baby?”

“Just… a bit bigger than I’m used to.” You give a little laugh, “But it’s okay. It feels good.”

“Good.” He agrees, pumping his fingers in and out of you once more, curling them ever so slightly. He gives a grin when you give a cry of pleasure, your eyes rolling back in your head, “Never knew that spot was there, huh? Sweet little fingers not quite long enough to reach it.” 

“Oh… God.” You moan as he brushes against that spot again, “I was starting to think I just couldn’t—“ You writhe as he brings his lips back around your clit, “Stephen… yes!” You cry out to him

He moaned hearing you say his name like that. He’d thought about it enough times by now. His cock throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants, begging to be released. But he would wait until you made the first move, or until you told him it was what you wanted. If you decided you didn’t want to go any further tonight he’d be perfectly fine with that. Whatever made you feel safest, that’s what he wanted. He didn’t give a damn about his own release as long as you got what you were looking for.

“C’mon Baby. Let go for me. Let me see how pretty you look when you cum.” Stephen encourages

“Don’t stop.” You demanded, shoving his face back down to your cunt

He chuckled. There you were. You were opening up— figuratively and literally. Your legs falling open to allow him closer. Your snappy and commanding attitude coming out to play. Stephen worked at you intently, feeling your walls flutter around him, the little moans and whimpers falling from your lips. You tasted like heaven to him, sweet and salty like all his favorite treats. You were perfect. Beyond what he’d imagined in all his fantasies late at night, the door locked, his hand around his cock making slow work of himself.

“Fuck! Stephen!” You moaned

Your walls clamped down around him, but he didn’t stop. Your body shook with an orgasm ten times the force of your usual ones. You buried your face into the pillow and let out a bit of a scream. Your legs shut around Stephen’s head and he just smiled to himself. This would be the perfect way to die. 

“Oh m-my God!” You stutter out

Stephen wedged himself from between your legs and gave a shit-eating grin, “Mm… not quite, Honey.”

You give a breathless giggle as he crawls back up your body, stopping to lavish attention to your breasts once again. His tongue working around your nipples making you writhe. He quickly reattached his lips to your own and you moaned into his mouth, pulling harshly at his hair making him moan back at you. He tasted like you and it was intoxicating. Proof of where he’d just been, what he had done for you. You could feel his cock against your core. He was so hard, he must have been itching for some sort of relief.

He pulled away and asked, “Doing okay?”

You giggle again, “A bit better than okay, yeah.”

He laughs and presses his forehead to yours, “Yeah? That’s good.” He runs his thumb over your cheek and stares down at you softly, “Not uncomfortable? Everything feels okay?”

You watched the candlelight flicker in his eyes, the warm glow spreading over his skin. He himself was warm, the heat radiating off of him and against your skin. You ran your thumbs over the grey streaks in his hair. You moved down and traced the smile lines on his face, memorizing each and every one. You wanted to memorize every part of him over and over again. There was some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t forget the moment himself. With his mind he couldn’t. And Stephen had never been more grateful for his photographic memory in his life. You looked so angelic spread out in his bed, your hair a halo over your head. He ran his thumb across your bottom lip and studied the blush on your cheeks. You were too stubborn to blush normally, but not here, not now. Not with him, not like this.

“Everything is perfect, Stephen.”

“You’re sure?”

You give him that gorgeous smile and he thought his heart would beat out of his chest when you whispered, “I’ve always imagined it would be you. Since the day I’ve met you…” You give a little sigh and redirect yourself before you say something better left unsaid, “It’s always you in my fantasies.” You give him big doe eyes and a shy smile, running your hand down his chest and asking “Can I see you, Stephen? I already know you’re better than anything I could have ever imagined.”

Stephen moaned at your words alone. You’d dreamed of him the way he’d dreamed of you— partially at the very least. 

You smile against his skin, “I see why you like to hear those sounds. It’s beautiful.” You tease, humming contentedly as he kisses your neck

“You’re sure, Baby?”

“I’m sure.”

Stephen rolled off of you and laid down. He unties his sweats slowly, tugging the pants off his legs and pushing them to the floor. You swallowed hard looking at the erection in his boxers. He was… very big. Stephen smiled to himself at the way your eyes went wide seeing the tent in his boxers. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, kissing your neck gently.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, “Straight to it or do you need a minute?”

“C-can I just touch you first?” You ask shyly

“Of course, Honey.” He agrees, taking your hand gently, “Do you want me to show you how?”

You nod and Stephen turns to face you, spreading his legs. He motions you forward and you sit in front of him on your knees. He scoots farther forward and brings your arms up to his shoulders. He leans in and kisses you softly and you follow. He brings his hand up to one of your own and slides it down to his chest slowly… then his abdomen. You can feel his abs tense against your touch and you can’t help but smile a little into the kiss. You grab at the hem of his shirt and Stephen pulls away from the kiss to let you lift it over his head. You stop for a moment, your breath catching in your chest seeing the muscles you’d always seen through too-tight tees and frequently stolen glances.

“You’re so… muscular.” You note aloud

Stephen chuckles, “Accidental benefit of the job.”

“I’m enjoying it.”

He laughs and brings your hands back to his chest, letting you feel his skin against your fingertips. He trails your hand a bit farther down, giving a bit of a groan as your hand comes into contact with his erection. You close your hand around him gently and begin palming him through his boxers. You’d never understood the phrase hard-on fully… you were starting to understand. You brought your hands to either side of his hips and pulled gently. Stephen raised his hips and watched as you stripped him naked. You gave a little whimper seeing him bare in front of you. He was flushed pink, a prominent vein running up the side of his cock… how the fuck was that supposed to fit inside you?

“One thing at a time.” Stephen says, seeming to read your thoughts, “Just wrap your hand around the base to start.” He instructs. You nod and reach down, wrapping your hand around him. He chuckled at the startled look on your face when he twitched in your hand and simply says, “It does that. Grip me a little tighter than that.”

“What if I hurt you?” You ask worriedly

Stephen brings a shaking hand to your cheek and says, “You aren’t going to hurt me. It’s not as sensitive as you’d expect— not like this. Different story with your mouth. If you’re worried about friction you can spit in your hand, or…” Stephen waves his hand in the air and a little bottle of clear liquid appears, “lube is a safe bet.”

You nod and remove your hand from his cock and hold it out. Stephen puts a bit of the gel in your hand and you rub it between your fingers before replacing your hand at his base. Stephen wraps his hand around yours and squeezes it a bit tighter until he feels a satisfying pressure.

“Now, just start stroking me up and down, slow to start.” He lifts your hand and guides it back down slowly, “Just like that, Honey.” He sighs, his eyes fluttering closed

You work your hand over him slowly as he showed you, from his base up until his head. Your hand slips a bit at one point, your fingers brushing over his head and he hisses. You immediately pull your hand away, but he grabs your wrist.

“You’re okay. The head is just a lot more sensitive than the rest of it. But not bad… definitely not bad. Feels good.” He says, “You’re alright. Keep going.”

You wrap your hand around him firmly once more and start working over him again. The more comfortable you got, the more confident you became in your strokes. You started running your thumb across his head as you jerked him, watching his face for any sign of discomfort, but seeing only flashes of pleasure. 

“That’s good, Honey. Little hand feels real nice wrapped around my cock.” 

You flushed at the filthy words combined with the praise. You liked that… a lot. Stephen noticed and smiled to himself. He was sure there was a freak buried beneath the inexperience. He thought if the two of you made this a more than one-time thing he’d eventually coax it out of you. But for now… slow and steady wins the race. He was pulled from his thoughts when your hand started working over him quicker, a moan of pleasure bubbling up from his throat. He looked down to find you smiling up at him. He smiled back and leaned back to rest on his elbows. 

“Do you have… protection?” You ask shyly

“Yeah, Honey.”

Stephen reaches behind him and opens his bedside table, digging around for a moment before producing the little foil-wrapped package you’d seen hundreds of times before in ads and commercials. He holds it out to you and you take it. You tear open the packet and Stephen can’t help but laugh at the look on your face.

“What’d you give it that look for?”

“Because it looks… flimsy.” You say, “How the hell does this do anything to prevent—“

“It’s a lot stronger than it looks.” Stephen reassures, “Effective ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“I don’t know about you, but that’s not as little room for error as I’d like.” You grumble

He chokes back a laugh and smiles at you, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth, “We don’t have to go any farther if you don’t trust it. You can get on birth control—“

“I’m on birth control.” He gives you a funny look and looks to the condom and you explain, “I didn’t know how to ask you about STD’s… I just figure you— well, you seem like the kind of guy who sleeps with a lot of women— not that that’s a bad thing! I don’t care either way, but just from a safety—“

Stephen rolls his eyes and smiles, “I haven’t slept with anyone in… a long time now. Longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Oh…”

“But I’m clean, and if you are too…” He trails off, letting you make of the suggestion what you will

You blush furiously and stutter out, “Well— yeah. But…” You shrug, “I’d rather be extra safe than sorry.”

Stephen nods, “That’s okay, Y/N. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with, alright?”

You nod and lean forward, giving him a few more tugs before rolling the condom over his shaft. When you go to pull away, Stephen grabs your arms and instead pulls you forward into a kiss. He pulls you into his lap carefully and you give a little whine feeling his length tap against your lower lips. He smiles and pulls back, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You can tell by the way his eyes search your face that there’s clearly something on his mind, but he’s not sure how to say it yet.

You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, kissing across his jawline and down his neck before asking, “What is it, Steph?”

“It’s just… normally for someone’s first time they’d want to do missionary, right?” You nod and he continues, “But missionary requires me to be in a position that I can’t exactly hold for too long anymore.” He rushes to add, “And if it were just it being uncomfortable, I’d push through, but I’m afraid… if my hands and arms gave out, I wouldn’t want to accidentally crash into you. And if I try to use a spell to sustain them for that long, I won’t be able to really focus on you. And I want to focus on you. I need to make sure you’re okay. And if you’re afraid to do something other than missionary your first time, I’d understand, but you just can’t do it with… me.” Stephen’s eyes are pleading as he says, “I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if I slipped and hurt you like this.”

You give a small smile and pull Stephen’s hands from your waist up to your face. You kiss each of his palms roughly, ensuring he’ll feel it. You force his hands to cradle your face and he gives something like a sigh, his head lulling forward to rest his forehead against your own.

“What’s another position we can do, Stephen?” You ask, tracing over the scars on the back of his hands with your thumbs, “Because I need you to feel safe too.”

“I think either cowgirl or having you sit in my lap. Cowgirl you can control how deep I am… that might be for the best.”

“Oh, so you know your dick is huge?” You tease

He laughs and buries his face in the crook of your neck, “I know I’m… well endowed, yes. But how would you know? It’s the only dick you’ve ever seen.”

“That’s not true!” You object, “I’ve… seen them. I just haven’t had anything to do with any of them.”

“Well, I consider myself very lucky to be the first you will have anything to do with.”

Stephen turns and lays down with his head in the pillows, dragging you with him. His cock is between your folds and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling, your hips moving on their own accord, rubbing yourself against him. Stephen smiles, placing his hands on your hips to still you, making you pout down at him. He holds up the bottle of lube again and drips some into his hand, running it up and down his wrapped shaft. You felt yourself bite into your bottom lip watching him touch himself. You’d imagined it before, but nothing compared to the real thing.

“Sit back on your knees for me, Baby.” You do as he asks and he instructs, “Go slow, take your time, if it’s uncomfortable give your body a second to adjust. If it starts to hurt Iwant you to tell me and we’ll try a different position or stop, okay?”

You nod eagerly and agree, “Okay.”

Stephen holds himself upright for you and gives your hip a gentle squeeze. You move forward and take him in hand yourself, lining him up with your entrance. You immediately feel a strong stretching sensation but will yourself to at least take a bit below his head. You feel yourself wince, one of your hands coming to grab at Stephen’s wrist as his hands rest on your waist. Stephen gives a groan, throwing his head back in the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. HIs hands travel to your hips and he grabs them with much more force than you’re used to with him.

“Are you okay?” You ask concerned

“Baby…” He gives a breathy little laugh, “I am far beyond okay. Haven’t got any idea how good it feels, do you?”

You blush and smile at your misinterpretation of his reaction, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Sweet of you to check on me.” Stephen says, trying to keep his hold on your hips steady, “How’s it feel?”

“Stings a little.” You admit

He nods, “That’s normal, you’re okay.”

You nod and close your eyes tight as you sink down farther. The sting persists and you give a little whimper as you try to force yourself down farther. 

“Hey, uh-uh. Give yourself a— shit…” He practically growls before continuing, “a minute.”

You were already pulsing around him. He could feel every little flutter around his cock and it was making it very, very hard not to move. You’d already taken him in about halfway with your over-extended second go. He looked back up at your face and saw your eyes closed, your top teeth worrying your bottom lip. Your chest heaved as you took deep breaths in and out. Stephen carefully moved his hand you weren’t holding to your clit and pressed softly against the nub. You gave a little whimper, your body shaking at the contact. After a while, he felt you relax around him a bit and looked back down to where you were connected. You felt so damn good— so impossibly tight even as you started to relax.

“That’s it, Honey. Just relax for me, yeah? You’re doing so good.”

“C’n I move again?”

“If you’re ready. Just… be gentle with yourself, okay? We’ve got all night.”

“Want you in me now.” You whine

Stephen withheld a moan at your desperate little plea, “I know, Baby. I want to be in you. I’m gonna be, we’ll get there. But I’d rather you take it sl—“ Stephen was cut short by both his and your moaning as you sunk down farther, your hands coming to rest on his chest, “F-fuck, Honey. Alright… Christ.” He breathed out as your walls clamped down around him

You looked down at him, tears crowding your lash line— a little dizzy from the pinch deep inside you— but still conscious and feeling well enough to shoot back, “Not quite, Steph.”

He gave a breathless sort of laugh and you couldn’t help but giggle at your own smart-ass. He reached up and ran his thumb beneath your eye, concern etched into his brow. That little bump always showed up between his brow when he was worried. You reached out, balancing yourself on one hand, and tried to soothe it away. He seemed to realize what you were trying to do and relaxed his face. You cupped his cheek and leaned forward a bit to kiss his lips. the reach forced him to slide out of you a bit and you whimpered into his mouth at the feeling. The sting was slowly starting to fade— still there, but not quite so insistent— replaced with a fullness you couldn’t quite explain.

You rocked yourself back on him again, listening to your body and only taking what you felt you could at the moment. Stephen moaned below you and you felt your cunt throb from the sound. It was so deep and rich and beautiful. You imagined if you could taste the noise it would be a bit like honey.

“Squeezing me so tight. Not gonna last long like that.” Stephen teases

“C-can’t help it. S’big.”

“Fuck… cock too big for you, Baby? Not enough room in that p-pretty little pussy?” You just nodded and he smiled up at you, “Don’t worry, it’ll fit. I know you can take it all. Just give yourself time to adjust, Honey. You’re doin’ s-so good for me.”

He knew he was only making it worse for himself. Every time he whispered something filthy you only seemed to squeeze around him tighter, but he just couldn’t help it. Having you all needy and wanton was driving him crazy. Every time you pushed back onto him your little whimpers created the sweetest symphony he’d ever heard. You were so warm and inviting, inside and out. He could have lost himself in you forever. You stopped rocking on him and he watched as you took in a deep breath. You let it out slowly and forced yourself to take the rest of him while you still had the courage. You winced in pain and braced yourself using Stephen’s shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. Stephen let out a moan so embarrassingly loud he was sure anyone in the Sanctum could have heard it. He brought his arms around your back and ran his hands over your soft skin slowly. 

“There you go, Baby. That’s a good girl. You okay?” He moved his hands to your face and your eyes fluttered open, a tear running down the side of your face, “Talk to me, Y/N. What’re you feeling?”

“It’s… it’s okay. S-stings some, but I’m f-fine.” You force out shakily

“You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“Yes. I mean— it doesn’t feel great at the moment, but I’m not hurt.”

“My deepest condolences.” Stephen apologizes, brushing away another stray tear, “If it’s any consolation… you feel amazing.”

You give a little giggle mixed with a choked sob, “Thanks.”

Stephen smiles up at you softly, “It’s just uncomfortable? That’s all?” He presses, clearly unconvinced given the presence of tears streaming down your face

“I- I just feel a lot right now.” You admit quietly, “Not just physically, but…” You choke up again and look away from him, “just a lot, that’s all.

“C’mere.” Stephen pulls you down gently so you’re laying on his chest, praying you won’t hear his heart trying to burst from it, “It’s okay, Honey. I’ve got you.”

“M’sorry I’m crying.” You whisper against his neck

“Luckily for both of us, you still look awfully cute when you cry.”

You giggle again, “Shut up, Stephen.”

“Why? I mean it.”

You tilt your head up and place your forehead against his, “You’re such a flirt.”

Stephen didn’t fully process what he was saying before admitting, “Only with you…” Your eyes went a bit wide and he rushed to try and fix his mistake, “I mean— who wouldn’t want to flirt with you? You’re…” Perfect? Beautiful? Kind? “you.”

You smile at him and give a little shrug, “Nothing too special about that.”

Stephen hesitated for a moment before lamenting, “Everything about that is special to me.”

You didn’t know how else to respond to something so sweet at a time like this, so you just kissed him. You pressed his lips to yours and kissed him like it was the last time you’d ever kiss anyone. Your heart swelled at such a sweet lamentation, and you weren’t sure if it was just a result of him being inside you, but you wanted to believe it for now. So you let yourself. You wanted to believe you were special to him the way he was to you, in so many more ways than just this instance. So you let yourself believe it. You stole the air straight from his lungs when you kissed him. It was passionate and insistent and sweet and tender all at once. When you pulled away, Stephen thought he would get a chance to catch his breath and was promptly proven incorrect as you sat up and started slowly sliding yourself over him again.

You gave a little whimper that turned into a moan. There was still a slight burn, but the stretch was starting to feel… nice? Relieving? Whatever it was, you weren’t wanting it to stop. Stephen watched as you sat up, pausing for a moment before starting to rock your hips back and forth. He threw his head back, his hands grasping at your hips as he attempted to stay grounded to this plane of reality. Your movements were confident, your hips arching forward and your chest following, your tits bouncing with your every motion. He reached up and ran his fingers over your pebbled nipples and you threw your own head back, a gasp leaving your lips.

“That’s it, Baby. Use my cock, make yourself feel good. K-keep rocking back and forth on me, just like that. Pussy feels so good…” You twitched around him and he can’t help but tease, “You like hearing how good you’re doing for me, don’t you?” You could only nod, too afraid to speak and let loose the noises you were currently keeping trapped in your throat, “Let me hear you. Moan for me, Baby. I want to know how good it feels.” 

“S-so good. Stretching me… oh, God… S-stephen. Cock feels so good.” You felt his nails digging into your hips and a small groan leave his parted lips, “It’s… so big. I feel so f-f-full.” You stammer out with a whine, “Need more.”

Stephen stilled your rocking and pulled up on your hips. You rose up a bit and sank down gently at first. It didn’t take long until you felt you were driving yourself over him again and again, and you just wanted more and more. You could feel him everywhere and you needed to keep feeling him like that. Stephen was mesmerized by you. Every little twitch, flutter, spasm, face, touch. You were everything to him— the same as you had been since he met you. 

“Oh… fuck.” You whimpered

“You sound so pretty, Honey. Look so pretty b-bouncing up and down on my dick.” He grinned feeling your cunt clench hard around him, but the realization crashing around him, “I-I don’t think I’m ganna last—“

You shake your head, “S’okay. Don’t— oh…” You squeezed your eyes shut tight as you came down just a bit too quickly, but pressed on, “Can’t cum more th-than once usually. N’… n’s too much. S’okay. Just want to make you f-feel good, Steph. Wanna make you cum.”

He groaned, “Want me to cum for you? Huh? Just want to make me feel good right now?”

You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, “Yes, p-please. Wanna be good for you.”

He moaned into your parted lips, “Fuck, Baby. You’re so good for me, m-makin’ me feel so good. Tight little pussy feels so nice wrapped around me.” He gropes at your ass roughly, “Keep talking to me. Tell me what you want.”

“Cum… please.” You beg, “Want you to cum. P-please. Need to make you feel good, Steph. Need you to feel good.” You whimper into his ear, “S-Stephen, please…”

“Shit— fucking take it.”

Stephen’s arms came around your back, trapping you in a death grip. Your own arms finding their way up, hands threading through into his hair and pulling harshly. He hissed in delight and you gave a little cry as he thrust up into you roughly two times before releasing a guttural moan straight into your ear. You could feel him twitching inside you, his hips thrusting upward more gently a few times, his arms still wrapped around you tight, his breathing sporadic the same as yours. One of his hands went to your hair and he ran a shaky hand over it, placing kisses against your cheeks and forehead. Your hands fell from his hair to his chest, feeling the slight dampness of perspiration. Stephen came down from his high with a start realizing what he’d just done.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—“ Stephen immediately went to apologize for his roughness with you, a hushed whisper filled with concern and dread

You pulled your hand up and over his mouth, “Uh-uh. Don’t be sorry. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” 

Stephen’s eyes are a bit wide, his lips quirked into a bit of a smile as you pull your hand from his mouth. You rest your forehead against his, both of you still trying to catch your breath, your tears long gone. You break out into a full-blown grin and start giggling like crazy. Stephen— beside himself at such a reaction— can do little but laugh as well. A rich, deep beautiful laugh to match the baritone of his voice. He gently pats your ass and you raise off of him enough to free him. He gently rolls you over and then rolls off the bed himself.

“Lay right there for a minute, Hon. Be right back.”

Stephen came traipsing back in with a pair of boxers on and nothing else. God… what a sight to see. He went to his chest of drawers and pulled out a tee and came back over, crawling into the bed. He sat next to you crisscrossed and brought a damp, warm rag down over your forehead and cheeks, folding it and running it under your eyes carefully. You watched the way he watched you as he worked, his eyes carefully trained wherever he was wiping down, the little crease in his brow back in full swing as he looked for any potential harm. He grabbed your hands and wiped them off carefully before running it over your chest, his eyes lingering there for just a second too long— not that you minded. He traveled farther and ran the rag over your pubic bone before glancing up at you.

“You’re gonna be sore. I just want to clean you off real quick, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

“M’kay…” You hum out lazily, reveling in his careful attention

You winced a little, but for the most part, your body was still high enough on adrenaline that you didn’t feel a thing. He helped you sit up and shrug on one of his old ratty tee’s. Certainly a downgrade from what he’d first seen you in tonight, but you were still the most splendid thing he’d ever laid eyes on in the galaxy. You laid back down, threw your arms over your head, closed your eyes, and let out a steady breath. 

And Stephen just kneeled there on his bed looking at you. The sex had been good, sure. It wasn’t mind-blowing, but it had been soft and sweet and he hoped everything you were looking for. In his old life— what felt like a past life— he would have never taken from you what he just did. It was actually a rule of thumb. He was plagued by the same patriarchal bullshit and arrogance as every other man of his status in America, and he thought to have a woman like that meant they’d be groveling at his feet the rest of their lives, emotionally bonded to him by the experience. And he guessed now he wasn’t any better since he was hoping by some miracle you would do just that. Maybe it wouldn’t be real, or maybe it would. But he just wanted you to feel the same way he felt for you. You were… everything to him and more. But how do you say that to someone if you don’t know for certain they feel the same way? How do you ask someone to stick themselves into this world when they have a perfectly normal and wonderful chance at lif—

“You’re brooding.” Your voice snaps him back to reality, “Then again, you usually are, so I suppose I should be grateful for the lack of change.” Stephen heard you, you knew he did because the bump in his brow disappeared. But he just kept sitting there staring at you, so you asked, “Steph? What’s wrong?”

“I meant what I said.” He whispers, “I only flirt with you. And not just because you’re you and who wouldn’t want to flirt with you— that is to say, not just because you’re pretty and any man in their right mind would do a double take to get another look at you. But because…” He huffs and gives a dry sort of laugh, “Well… because you’re you. That didn’t make any sense…” You sit up in the bed and look him over carefully but he continues before you can start, “You’re special to me. I care about you in a way I haven’t cared for anyone in a… long, long time, Y/N. Every moment of your time you offer me… it’s my favorite thing in the world. I’m never happier than when I’m with you.” He looks you dead in the eye to ensure, “And I mean that.”

Your heart is thrumming wildly in your chest, you try to speak but choke on your words and all you can stupidly ask is, “Was the sex that good?”

Stephen gives something between a scoff and a laugh, “N— well, yes. The sex was good. But that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” You ask, a little lilt to your voice, a hint of desperation that doesn’t go unnoticed by you or him

Which makes Stephen feel a bit more confident as he asks plainly, “Would you want to go on a date sometime? A real one? Where I like… bring you flowers and you dress up for me like you did for the sucker that bailed on you tonight and I take you somewhere nice?” Your eyes are wide as you stare back at him before muttering something under your breath. Stephen scoots a bit closer and asks, “Come again?”

“‘Y— you look nice tonight… did he finally ask you?’” 

A grin spreads on your face and without another thought you launch yourself into his arms, effectively sending you both to the mattress from the absolute shock of the action. You laugh and place several kisses across Stephen’s face before taking it in your hands and pressing a very thorough kiss to his lips. You pull back and find Stephen staring up at you in a mix of confused delight, not entirely unhappy about the position he’s found himself in, though a bit fuzzy on the details of how he got there. But his heart is swelling, his head dizzy, a stupid smile on his face all the proof he needs to know it’s exactly where he wants to be.

“I think a date would be very nice.” You finally agree after a bit of giggling like the little ray of sunshine he sees you as, “That way you can buy me dinner before you throw me in your bed like any gentleman would do.”

He scoffs, eyes wide but a grin on his lips, “You asked me to fuck you!”

“And if you were a gentleman you would have said we needed to eat dinner first.” You tease

Stephen pulls you down and kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip and pulling away to reply, “I have claimed to be many things in my life: a genius, a scholar, a prodigy in the mystical arts, a—“

You hold up your hand, “I’m gonna stop you there and guess you’ve never claimed to be a gentleman.”

“Not once.”

“Hmm… I’ll have to fact-check that with a few sources.”

“Christine is not a reliable source.” Stephen immediately defends

You laugh, “Can’t wait to see what she thinks about this… she was starting to wonder if you’d ever ball up—“

“Hey!”

“In your defense, I did tell her there was no way you liked me like that.”

“And what did she say?”

“That I was an idiot.”

Stephen tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, “Well…”

“I can retract my acceptance of being your date.”

He wraps his arms around you tight and twists to spoon you, a playful tone as he asks, “Trying to skip the date and get right back to the good part again, huh?”

“Mm… you owe me three dates before you can propose such a ridiculous idea.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and agrees without hesitation, “Deal.”

“I told Stark – I can’t tell you, or anyone, because if I do, we will lose everything.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you take in his wide eyes, the quiver in the corner of his mouth. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, thumb grazing softly over the peak of your cheekbone. “I really wish you hadn’t come after me.”

“Would whatever’s coming, still have happened?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him, turning your head to rest against his chest.

A soft chuckle leaves him. “Yes.”

“Then I’d rather be here, with you.”

He takes in a breath, a hiss of air between clenched teeth. “Remember that,” he murmurs, voice ragged, and you feel him start to pull away. “Please.”

You look up then, blinking in the sunlight, taking in the bloody gash on his cheek, the disheveled hair, the missing relic that was once strung round his chest. Your fingers run over the empty space over the front of his shirt.

“Strange!”

Turning together, one last glance thrown each other’s way, you find Stark and Peter in the center of the crater below, the younger helping the wounded man to stand. Tony’s side is bandaged with scraps, Stephen’s field dressing a quick makeshift attempt to stop the bleeding. He still needs to get to a hospital. You all do. Stephen’s hand warmly ghosts over the bare skin of your shoulder as he steps down. You follow. Then you stop in your tracks as the others come into view around the corner of a fallen building. Quill’s face is ashen, a terrified expression on his face and behind him, Drax seems to bare the same fear. Then Drax is gone. You think you’re seeing things – perhaps he stepped out of view. It’s as if he's vanished – no longer in sight and your mind struggles to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“Steady, Quill,” Tony says as the second man disappears in a cloud of ash. It rises up, carried on the wind.

You stand frozen, stomach twisting, dropping, tearing – you feel it all at once as everyone that’s left, you, Tony, and Peter turn to face Stephen. He stands with his back to you, shoulders slumped with exhaustion and perhaps something more. Defeat? He and Tony share a look before he glances over his shoulder, eyes finding yours.

“There was no other way,” he tells you, and there’s so much in those five simple words. An apology, an explanation, and an excuse. You step towards him as his gaze drops to the side, eyes becoming distant, face turning gray. He kneels down, hands reaching out to steady himself and you rush forward.

“Stephen—” But you aren’t fast enough. The second your hand meets his shoulder, he gives way, crumbling into a million pieces. “Wh—Where—” You retract your hand, as though avoiding the bite of a snake, eyes wide, heart pounding, lungs clamped still mid-breath. He’s on your skin, dust smeared between your fingers and you struggle between the need to get it off you and the panic of finding him.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.

And the sound that leaves you then is the sound of a knife slipping between ribs, wet and broken and bleeding with pain. You fall to your knees helpless, unable to stop the gaping hole growing in your chest. Ragged tears cut down your cheeks as you turn to the two people behind you. Stark stands alone, Nebula behind him. There’s no sign of Peter.

“Where are they?” you whisper, the words cutting your tongue.

And Stark, for all his previous glib, can barely bring himself to answer you. There’s a deadness to his gaze, and you know you haven’t simply lost. You’ve been defeated, ground into the dirt until there’s no point in living.

“They’re gone.”